


Borders

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Reconstruction [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Africa, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hotel Sex, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Sharon nodded and munched on crunchy bread and creamy French cheese. "And you came to bring me down, as well?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"I came to offer you sanctuary."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Leave no man behind. She was kind of flattered to be on the list. "Well," she said quietly. "Beats being a waitress at a coffee house."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Steve grinned, and was something beyond adorable. "Good."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It was impossible not to smile back. "When do we leave?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of July 4th (I still have over an hour on the West Coast so shhh) a new Steve/Sharon fic. And the beginning of a new series because we just can't stop ourselves. It begins during the events of Civil War so spoilers if you haven't seen it.
> 
> Posting 2x a week. Enjoy!

After they took down SHIELD, the US government spent a lot of time casting about for someone living that they could blame. Nick Fury had shot their actual culprit, and then Steve had dropped a helicarrier on him.

They dragged Natasha before an ocean of congressional hearings. Maria Hill was subject to investigations and interrogations from every 3-letter agency out there, and tailed by a variety of law enforcement types until Tony Stark gave her an apartment in his tower and turned his lawyers on them. Steve was actually surprised at the wide berth they gave him. Being a national hero apparently had its perks.

It took them six months to come around to the idea that it was really the fault of whomever was in charge of SHIELD when Hydra took root all those decades ago. Howard Stark was dead. Peggy Carter was not.

Going after a 94 year old woman with dementia would not have flown well with the public, and she wasn't exactly competent for any kind of trial, but Steve didn't blame her family for not wanting to even risk it. Some family member or other who worked in government got wind of it, and the improbable decision was made to move her back to the United Kingdom. Despite fifty years married to an American citizen, she'd still held on to her British passport. She'd always been good at worst-case-scenarios. 

(Though she'd told him once she kept it for convenient passage through customs on visits to her daughter, who'd moved to London some years ago)

It took him a week for her to be having a good enough day to actually say goodbye. As it turned out, it was the last lucid in-person conversation he’d ever have with her. 

Her daughter kept him posted about her condition, and they got to be kind of odd friends. She'd been telling him a couple of months now Peggy was going downhill, but he'd been busy. Which was a terrible excuse, but it was what it was. And now it was too late. 

The only person he'd told was Sam, who asked how he could help. Steve had said to find the next flight to London he could reasonably get a ticket for. 

"Ten-thirty tomorrow, earliest one with space in business class."

Steve made a face. Sam was standing in his doorway waiting for agreement. "I don't mind flying coach," Steve said.

"I mind. And you don't fit in a coach seat."

"You're coming with me?" He tried to sound stern but smiled anyway. Shitty things were better with company. Bucky used to say that.

"It's better than sitting here for three days while the rest of them heckle me to sign that stupid paper."

Now it was a full smile. "Fine. Business class."

Business class was better than coach, he had to admit. As was the company. He wasn't feeling very talkative, but Sam was a master at balancing chit-chat with silence so he could never sink too far into grief, or get lost in his thoughts about the Accords.

"I dug out the wedding suit for this," Sam mentioned as they were waiting for their bags. "All the stops."

"You know when I was young, people wore suits every day."

"When you were young I'd've been shining your shoes instead of flying next to you in business class."

He sighed a little. "Yeah, I remember that shit, too." Philips had practically had a conniption over Jones and Morita and Captain America's "image". But as Tony Stark was probably coming to terms with right now, you really couldn't win an argument with Steve once he'd chosen a hill to die on.

They took a cab to their hotel - which Sam had also found - and had time to settle in before going to dinner. The funeral was the next morning and Steve was already dreading it. Peggy's daughter had left him a message while he was in the air asking if he'd be willing to be a pall bearer. Her voice had broken on a sob in the middle of it and he knew there was no way he could say no.

Dinner was probably delicious, but he didn't taste it. "It's been a terrible week, hasn't it?" 

"Yes, it has." Steve liked Sam for his candor. "Tomorrow will be bad, too. But I've got your six, whatever you need."

"After this is over I'm going to need you to help me figure out what the hell to do with my enforced retirement."

"I think you should give the MMA circuit some serious thought."

"No one would ever bet on the other guy."

Sam clicked his tongue and reached for his water glass. "That is a downside."

"The Accords specify we're not allowed to do individual mercenary work."

"Can't picture you as a mercenary."

"Well. I'd only do it for nice people." He scrubbed his face. "Now I think what I really need is sleep."

He didn't sleep, of course. His brain was full of nightmares and memories and fear. Full of grief. It wasn't just about Peggy, either. Whatever sense of home and belonging he'd built over the last couple of years was gone now, or would be soon. Somewhere around three or four AM, he convinced himself he should just sign it. Just to keep the closest thing he had anymore to family. But that was selfish, and he was Captain America.

In the morning he looked as exhausted as he felt, and Sam clearly didn't buy his story of blaming it on jet lag. But there was a funeral to drag himself through.

He carried the coffin down the church aisle and did his best to hide the tears rolling down his cheek. They set the flag draped coffin at the altar and he took his seat next to Sam. The priest droned on and Steve lowered his head and let himself drift a little. He'd been to a lot of funerals the last few years - most of them after the Triskelion collapsed. He could probably recite some of the standard Bible verses in his sleep.

He'd seen a lot of the same people, a selection of the survivors who made the rounds of their coworkers’ funerals. At at least half a dozen he'd seen The Spy Next Door that Nat had goaded him into rather embarrassingly asking out. He could never make himself say hello and ask her what the hell her real name. Nat had told him once, but with everything else that had happened he'd forgotten.

He certainly didn't expect Peggy's funeral would be the place he learned it again.

It seemed like she was talking directly to him as she spoke. And maybe she was, in a way. She did keep glancing in his direction. Her hands fidgeted on the podium as she did. 

"Even if the whole world is telling you to move. It is your duty, to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye and say 'No. _You_ move.'" She took a breath and looked out at the crowd. "It's advice I always tried to live by, no matter what it cost me. It's a lesson I hope to pass down to my children, someday. I think it's advice the whole world could use. To be a little more like Peggy Carter."

His mind turned as they carried the casket back down the aisle and out of the church. She was going to be cremated, so there was no graveside. It was probably for the best, at least as far as what Steve was capable of handling right now. 

The crowd outside the church was a little claustrophobic, and as people finally started to leave, Steve asked Sam to give him a minute and went back inside. The church was cavernous, and full of stained glass. It was Anglican, but back home only Catholics put up this kind of fuss and ceremony, so he felt at home. He hadn't said a prayer in a long time.

He ended up thinking of something else Peggy had told him once. _Sometimes the only thing you can do is start over._

He was both surprised and not when Nat came down to talk to him. He'd known she'd sign and even understood why. It was the same reason he'd almost convinced himself to do it last night. Staying together was more important than how they did it.

After a long hug that he had to admit he desperately needed, he walked her out so she could take a car to the airport. Once he'd seen her off he glanced around for Sam and saw Sharon a few yards away, hugging Peggy's daughter tightly. She looked near tears and like she was hanging on to as thin a thread as he was.

He stood there staring long enough he caught her eye, so he lifted his hand in a little wave. She nodded in acknowledgement and said a few more words to the people she was with. Then she broke away to join him. "Hi," she said hesitantly.

"Hi," he said in return. "Sharon, is it?"

"It is." She held her hand out to shake. "Steve, right?"

He chuckled, and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm glad you could come," she said softly.

"She was the only thing left of my life before the ice," he replied with honesty that surprised him.

Her smile twisted, turned sad. "I know. I'm sorry."

Steve glanced around. "You here by yourself?"

"I am, yeah. Dad's had some health problems this year, couldn't make the flight. I was close and Lilly wanted someone from the family to do the eulogy but didn't think she could do it, so. . . I came."

She looked a little lost, though was clearly trying to hide it, so he found himself saying, "Sam and I were going to go get a bite to eat. Want to come along?"

The offer clearly surprised her. But her smile was genuine when she said, "I'd love to."

He pulled out his phone to see where Sam had gotten off to, and was greeted by a text. _Jet lag getting to me. Went to crash. Go buy that woman a drink._

Her brows went up and he tucked the phone away. "Looks like we're on our own."

Something unreadable crossed her face, but she smiled and shifted her grip on her clutch. "Well, then. There's a nice little pub a few blocks from here, if you're up for a stroll."

"I'm not the one in fancy heels."

She glanced down, then back up at him. "Oh, please. I could go on mission in these things." With a gesture, she indicated which way to go and they fell into step.

"That's a very Peggy thing to say."

"I will take that as a compliment," she said with a smile and an almost shy glance up at him.

"It was meant as one."

The pub she brought him to was a lot cleaner and brighter lit than the ones he used to frequent during the war. Menu was pretty similar, though. They both ordered pints and some lunch and found a table near the window. "How long are you in town?" she asked.

"We're flying home tomorrow. As of this afternoon I am unemployed. I have to pack and find somewhere to live and. . . God knows. I don't think Tony's going to throw me out, but we're not exactly on the best of terms at the moment, so it's better I just. . . go." It all sounded depressingly final. 

Sharon pushed her fries around her plate a moment, then folded her hands together on the table. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing. Not signing. And that's coming from a shady government agent."

"Part of me wonders if I'll regret it. If this is giving up. If people are going to die because I wouldn't play along, and so effectively quit."

"You might regret it. But I think if you signed it and people died because you weren't _allowed_ to go help them . . . I think that would be a lot more than regret."

"I think that would end with me in jail."

She tilted her head and smiled. "Seems a little worse."

“Do you think I'm giving up?" he asked. He didn't know her at all, outside hallway conversation. He had no idea why he cared about her option of him. Because she was Peggy's niece? Because Kate the Nurse was the first woman in a very long time he'd genuinely _wanted_ to have a date with and not just a one-night stand.

She looked thoughtful and paused to sip her beer before responding. "I don't. I think you're taking a stand. Giving up is compromising your ideals. You're doing the opposite of that." Tilting her head, she added, "If I'm being honest, I do think the Avengers need supervision. Every military or aid group in the world has someone watching them. But they aren't expected to blindly sign a contract they had no input in creating. If the UN was serious about working with you, they'd have roped in Tony's lawyers and let you guys go over versions and amendments. Instead, they decided to scold you like children and expected you to sit in a corner without argument."

And right then she helped crystalize something that had been amorphous in his head. "Yeah. I mean—three days? They gave us three days? The damn thing was 500 pages long. There wasn't even time to read it properly, let alone negotiate. This has clearly been going on since before Lagos. That was 22 days ago. You can't get 117 countries to approve a statement saying the sky is blue in that time frame. So however long this has been going on—my guess since about 5 minutes after Sokovia—they never had time to loop us in." He rubbed his eyes. "The irony is, we were all so mentally fucked up and guilt ridden after Sokovia we probably would have agreed to _anything_ that didn't come with a jail sentence. Maybe some that did."

"It's a power play," Sharon said. "You guys were—are—unprecedented. And that makes people nervous. So instead of trying reason, they tried to bully you. And I recall you having a rather famous stance on bullies."

That made him smile. "Yes I do." He also did not want to spend this entire meal talking about the Accords. "You know, I think I've met your father. Harrison? Gold glasses?"

Her brows went up. "That's him. When did you meet him? I can't believe he wouldn't have called me to share the excitement."

"We crossed paths at the nursing home once. Right before SHIELD fell. I don't know if he knew who I was, I didn't know who he was until I went in to see Peggy and she informed me that was the little chubby-cheeked baby nephew she used to keep a photo of in her wallet during the war."

"Pretty sure she still had that picture in her wallet when she went to the home," Sharon said with a laugh. "They were always close. Peggy was the reason Grandma moved to the States in the fifties. Her parents had died and she wanted Dad to have family."

"And now you work for the CIA instead of MI6."

"But I can do a hell of a British accent."

"I don't doubt that. Your aunt was a master of fake accents."

"Yes, she was. My drama teacher used to ask her to come teach a class, or when we were doing a play. Peggy thought it was hilarious. A spy teaching a fifteen year old accents for My Fair Lady."

"She seemed like somebody who would be a good sport about stuff like that." He took a long drink of his beer. "It was war. You didn't get much more than impressions of what people were like a real life." He sighed. "But I always did. . . imagine." She'd kissed him before he got on Schmidt's plane, and she'd cried when he crashed. For a moment there the things he thought were mostly one-sided weren't anymore. And then for another moment— somewhere in there between waking up realizing that he wasn't dead after all, and learning 70 years had passed and she probably was dead herself—he'd imagined and entire lifetime full of things. "I guess you could call her the one that got away."

Sharon was quiet, watching his face. He wondered what she saw there—with a lifetime of spy training and months of monitoring him under her belt. She laughed a little and shook her head, reaching for her drink. "You know, she used to tell me war stories when I was little. She was a regular babysitter when I was in grade school. You were in some of the stories. Jumping on the grenade, rescuing the guys at Azzano. But Colonel Philips and Howard Stark and the guys she knew at the SSR were there too. It wasn't until I got to high school that I learned you guys were this famous tragic love story." She sipped her beer. "I asked her why she didn't mention it. She said you were very special to her. And that she mourned you a long time. That she wanted people to know who you really were, not the legend." She laughed again, and it sounded sad. "And that she'd rather I want to _be_ Captain America than date him."

"They should have given her the serum. She was as fundamentally good as anyone I know, even myself. And far better at war."

"Uncle Daniel used to say that. About the serum. Said the war would have been over in a week." She tilted her head. "She had a good life. More than her share of regrets. A few failures. But I think in the end she was happy."

"Good," he said. "She deserved to be."

"You know," Sharon said after a moment's pause. "Maybe you should give some thought to a totally different life." She glanced at him uncertainly, then looked out the window, then back to him. "It's a big world. There's a lot of ways to save it. Start a charity. Work for one that already exists. Maybe if you walk away, they'll realize what they gave up."

He tilted his head. "That not a bad idea, actually. I didn't sign anything, so I don't think they can arrest me just for doing something with my fame."

"Tony rather famously declared that he and Iron Man were one. That's even more true of you and Captain America. I'm assuming there's something resembling a non-competition clause in the Accords. No mercenary work. Not that it matters if you're not signing, but I'm betting there's nothing about becoming the spokesman for Habitat for Humanity or Wounded Warriors or something. Someone might have an old trademark on Captain America. No one owns Steve Rogers."

"I am, right now, really glad I ran into you."

Her smile was very sweet and lit up her face. "Well, I'm happy to help."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to reiterate that if you haven't seen Civil War or gotten a good plot summary of it you're going to be
> 
> 1) Spoiled as hell and
> 
> 2) Probably kind of lost.

Sharon had not expected to make any pleasant memories this week. Peggy's death had been expected but still a blow. And standing up in front of all of those people and blowing her oldest and best cover had been nerve-wracking. Even before she'd spotted Steve in the front of the church. All in all she'd been looking forward to slinking back up to her hotel and raiding the mini bar and room service dessert menu.

And then Steve Rogers had walked up to her and had been cute and awkwardly charming and her day had taken a surprising and pleasant turn.

Now he was walking her back to said hotel - which turned out to be his hotel as well - and she was wondering if Aunt Peggy was already pulling strings upstairs for her benefit.

"You really didn't tell anybody you were Peggy's niece?"

"I did not. I used my mother's maiden name, used teachers who didn't know for recommendation letters at the Academy." She shrugged. "No one was going to accuse me of nepotism."

"Did your family know?"

"Oh yeah. I couldn't keep that from them, it was dangerous work and they deserved to know. Dad never said much about it one way or the other." They'd reached the hotel, dodging through the busy valet station to the glass front doors. "My mom tried to talk me out enlisting but, um, not Aunt Peggy." She glanced up at him. "She bought me my first thigh holster."

Steve's eyebrows went up, and he grinned. "Very practical."

"And stylish," she assured him. It had looked like a proper garter belt, in fact, and had held a 9mm.

They reached the elevator and she hit the call button before turning back to him. They shifted awkwardly a moment. It felt oddly like the end of a date, him asking about her work, her answer trailing off a little. Way too much eye contact.

"I've been meaning to ask you. . ." he said, a hesitant smile on his face. He looked just uncomfortable enough she was sure he was about to ask her out—or ask her upstairs. Then he said, "When you were spying on me from across the hall—"

"You mean when I was doing my job?" she asked pointedly.

He gave a little nod of acknowledgement. She wondered if that was still a sore spot for him. Sure sounded like it, and that made her sad. "Did Peggy know?"

Speaking of sore spots. "She kept so many secrets," Sharon said with a sigh and shake of her head. "I didn't want her to have one from you." The elevator pinged behind her before he could reply. They both looked at it, the Sharon offered, "Thanks for walking me back."

"Sure," he said easily. He looked down, and his face shifted through a couple of micro-expressions. He wasn't a hard man to to read even if you weren't a spy. She could _see_ him make a decision before he looked back at her.

Asking him upstairs didn't mean they'd actually _do_ anything. They could just continue their conversation. She opened her mouth and snapped it shut as Sam came up to them. She was surprised at how sharp the stab of disappointment she felt.

"There's something you gotta see."

They ended up in Steve's room, with the TV on showing angle after angle of the burning building. Sharon only needed to watch a minute before digging her phone out and calling into the office.

She was distracted by her conversation, figuring out who was coordinating on the ground, and just how quickly she could get to Vienna. Of all the times for her to be off.

Then, ironically, the coworker in her ear told her at the same time the TV was telling Steve and Sam. Their key suspect was the Winter Soldier.

She looked over at Steve in time to see his jaw clench. She assured her contact she'd be there by 3pm and hung up. "I have to go to work."

"I have to get there," Steve said in reply.

Times like this it would be handy if he and Stark were speaking. "I have a contact at MI6, I'm going to see if they can do me a favor. I'll try to include you two."

"Thank you," he said. He was still staring at the TV. Sam was watching him with concern.

She and Sam exchanged a glance and he gave a little nod. Okay, clearly they were both on team help Steve. Good. "I'm going to go to my room. I'll call you when I have something." She started for the door. "I suggest getting ready to go at a moment's notice."

"We'll be ready," Sam said.

Her MI6 contact was feeling accommodating, and 45 minutes later the three of them were on a government plane headed to Vienna. She was still juggling phone calls while Steve sat stoically and Sam watched him like he was a bomb about to go off.

"My team has a car waiting for me," she said between calls. "You two should find your own transport. Civilians won't be allowed and I'm guessing you don't want it common knowledge you're in town."

"I have to find him," Steve said. "And I have no idea how."

"His picture's circulating. No good leads yet. The whole world is looking for him." Her phone buzzed and she checked her message. The casualty count was going up as they dug people out. "Gonna take time to sort through the noise."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just didn't think he'd do something like this."

"It doesn't make any sense," she agreed, still distracted by her phone. Sam looked at her, surprised and she shrugged. "We've had nothing attributed to Barnes since SHIELD fell. No assassinations, no unexplained deaths. Nothing. Assumption was he'd died in the helicarriers or had gone to ground. To come out for this?" She paused to answer a text. "Plus bombs aren't his style."

"They're not," Sam said. "God knows he came to murder us in person." It got him a glare from Steve, and he shrugged. "It's the truth."

"Presumptive target seems to be King T'Chaka," she said before a fist fight could break out. "It's the first time he's been out of Wakanda in a decade and it went off during his welcome speech. Question now is why and who ordered it."

Steve tipped his head back. "That angle is your problem. I'm retired. Maybe he's still got some programming from Hydra. Maybe he is taking hits for pay. I don't know. But I should be the one to bring him in."

"That doesn't sound very retired," she said mildly. Sam gave her a look that might have been gratitude.

"Accords never got signed," Steve said. "They won't send the Avengers after him, out of sheer politics. Which means dozens of cops and soldiers are going to die trying to apprehend him before they grasp what they're dealing with." He opened his eyes and looked over at her. "I took out an entire strike team in an elevator."

She'd seen the video footage of that, two years ago when she was trying to figure out what the hell was going on in SHIELD. If Barnes was a fraction of that then yes, they'd have a slaughter on their hands. "If you think I have the authority to tell them who's going after him, you are greatly overestimating my place in the power structure."

The intercom crackled and the pilot told her they were starting their descent.

"Thanks," she replied, before stashing her phone. "Buckle up." Steve was still looking at her. "Hey, I got you here. I'm going to pretend I don't know any more about you than I did yesterday. Until something changes, that's the best I can do."

He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

She nodded and smiled.

Their landing was smooth and her car was waiting on the tarmac. Steve turned to say goodbye and she hugged him before he could say anything, putting her mouth right by his ear. "There's a cafe around the block from the bomb site. Still open and not surveilled. Hang out there and if I get something I'll get it to you."

She felt him startle, and then briefly his arms tightened. This was a terrible, terrible time for her to notice just how good he smelled. "Thank you."

With a little pat, she let him go, nodded to Sam and grabbed her bag, striding off towards the car.

They took her right to the bomb site, and for a while she was busy just dealing with that. Eventually she ended up in a makeshift "office" in the back of one of their trucks, sifting through the incoming tips. There was an avalanche of bullshit to filter out.

"Nobody's better than you at this," her boss told her before sending her into the van. It was one of those compliments that was sincere, but still kind of screwed you over. Still, she _was_ good at it and it was her best chance of finding intel to give Steve, so in she dove.

First she identified areas of high density sightings. One guy swearing Bucky Barnes runs a gyro shop in Florence is probably a crank. Fifty people see him doing manual labor in Bucharest, that's worth noting.

She compiled all the Bucharest tips into one and pulled up a map of the city on the computer, triangulating the calls. After only twenty a very clear epicenter was showing up, but she filled in another twenty to be sure. As she worked, two more calls for Bucharest came in, both in the radius she was drawing. It was the best shot they had.

She printed two copies of the map with the address highlighted and stuck them into two folders. In once she also put a list of the tips and geographical information. Then she stuck her head out of the van. Coast was clear, so she hopped out and strode down the block as if she had somewhere very important to be.

Steve and Sam were in the cafe, in matching baseball caps, sunglasses, and leather jackets. Spies the two of them were not.

She passed the map off to Steve only to have him immediately open the file to peer at it. One day, someone should really teach him how to not be Captain Obvious. "My boss expects a briefing pretty much now, so that's all the head start you're gonna get."

"Thank you," he said. At least he didn't look at her.

Her absence was going to be noted soon. She found herself wishing she could do more. Maybe go with him. But this was all she could do without compromising her position. And if this went south he was probably going to need her on the inside more than the out. So she just gave him one more warning. "And you're gonna have to hurry." She pushed away from the bar. "We have orders to shoot on sight."

Shoot on sight they did. Out of sheer conscience she reminded her boss what they knew of the Winter Soldier's abilities, and just like Steve had predicted, he insisted they couldn't call the Avengers because the Accords hadn't been signed. Instead they sent a unit of German Special Forces to get the shit kicked out of them.

Sharon was in the command center, so she got to see the entire clusterfuck go down, including the part where Steve and Sam showed up. She supposed she should be grateful they made it. Then some guy in an impenetrable black suit that resembled a cat got involved, though it was impossible to tell which side he was on.

Now her boss was on the phone arguing with his boss. "Yeah, I get it. But this is getting worse and we can't contain—Yes, I think Stark can. He could stop the Hulk." He made a noise of frustration and tipped his head back. "Yes, I'll hold." He paused, then muttered, "God give me strength."

"Not budging?"

He shook his head. "I appreciate your lack of 'I told you so'. He's offering help from the US military. As if they're somehow magically better than the German military."

Sharon turned and looked at him. "Call Col. Rhodes. He's technically a liaison to the Avengers and is actually still in the Air Force. And he's got a suit."

He turned and pointed at her, then hung up the phone. "Call dropped, look at that. Close enough to ask forgiveness and not permission." He made a little shooing gesture. "Go, do it."

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "I'll just do it over here out of earshot where there's better reception." He waved, already looking at something else and she scrolled through her voluminous contact list. Rhodes, at least, wouldn't shoot Steve and Sam, too.

Once they were apprehended, without any shooting, orders came they were to be brought to JTTF's headquarters in Berlin. The mysterious third man, as it turned out, was the brand new King of Wakanda.

"He should be locked up, too," her boss muttered as they waited to greet the convoy. 

"Diplomatic immunity," Sharon repeated. She'd said _diplomatic immunity_ about 30 times in the last hour. They'd been ordered to confiscate Steve's shield and Sam's wings. That was probably going to go over _great_.

The string of SUVs pulled into the loading dock and she folded her hands in front of her, bracing herself as Steve, Sam, and King T’Challa climbed out of their vehicle. She was relieved to see they weren't handcuffed. Steve gave the cage with Barnes in it one look before striding over to her and Ross.

"What's going to happen?"

"Same thing that ought to happen to you. Psychological evaluation and extradition."

Sharon grit her teeth. He could _try_ to sound less chipper. "This is Everett Ross," she said, hoping to bring the tension down a little. "Deputy Task Force Commander."

Steve glanced at her, then back at Ross. "What about a lawyer?"

Now Ross added smug to his voice. "Lawyer. That's funny." He inclined his head in Sharon's direction. "See their weapons are placed in lockup. We'll write you a receipt."

Agents walked by with said gear. Sam watched his wings go by and started muttering but Steve was looking only at her. With big, soulful blue eyes that looked utterly lost. There was nothing she could say, not here and now. But she tried to give him an encouraging smile before turning to lead them further into the facility.

She broke off from the group to follow the gear while Ross took them up to command center. Ross had, of course, not said _where_ she should lock them up. So instead of the armory or evidence she pointed the guards to Storage room Echo and plugged in a new custom code into the door. The team lead who'd brought them in filled the receipt out while she did so.

She was on her way back upstairs when she noticed the receipts said "metal disk" and "bird costume." Those guys were German. German was a very literal language.

Sam and Steve had been put in a conference room that could see but not hear what was going around. She wasn't needed up front so she went in to give them the receipts.

"Bird costume? Come on."

She spread her hands. "I didn't write it."

Steve was standing at the window, watching the view screens playing Barnes's interrogation. Stress was in every line of his body. Sharon felt a little pang for him. He'd gotten so close, even had a minute alone with Barnes from what she could tell. And now there was no guarantee he’d ever get another.

The conference phone was right there and it took a press of a button to get sound playing on their speakers. Steve jumped and looked around, then at her but she didn't make eye contact. Captain Obvious strikes again.

For a moment they all watched in silence. The shrink seemed to be doing standard probing questions, though Barnes was pretty uninterested in saying anything. Other than correcting his name.

Steve turned away from the screen. It was obvious from his face that the wheels were turning. "Why would the task force release this photo to begin with?"

He tossed the surveillance photo onto the table, she watched it slide a moment before answering, "Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can." It was standard procedure for this type of thing. Get the suspect’s face out, deputize the whole world to your team.

Clearly that was the answer he'd expected. "Right. It's a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. You get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier."

She looked down at the picture again. "You're saying someone framed him to find him." Ross would have written it off as wishful thinking but it made a certain amount of sense. It actually solved a lot of the things about this that _hadn't_ made sense. Bombs not being Barnes's thing didn't matter if it wasn't Barnes who had built and set it off. He hadn't spontaneously come out of hiding after two years, someone had grown tired of waiting for him.

But it was too big, too many eyes. "Yeah but that doesn't guarantee whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would." As the words left her mouth it hit her what that really meant. If someone wanted _them_ to get him. Then that someone was part of them.

Steve turned to look back at the monitor just as the lights went out.

Chaos erupted outside, and Steve turned towards her. A blackout right now seemed almost movie-plot convenient. The words were out before she could think about them. "Sub-level 5, east wing." Steve and Sam took off without a word.

She went out to the main room to help with lock down protocols. Ross was yelling on the phone as usual. She spotted Romanov and Stark heading for the door and jogged to catch up with them. "Follow me," she ordered, and was relieved to hear two sets of footsteps following her. "We need to assume Barnes is out of containment. There's not a lot of escape routes in the building. If he's going where I think, the best place to confront him is the atrium."

"I don't have a suit," Stark said. "All I have is a wrist watch."

Sharon was not at all surprised this escapade ended in her being flipped into a table so hard she broke it. The bruises would be epic.

After crashing a helicopter on the roof, Barnes vanished. So did Steve. As she was taken to the infirmary, Sharon wondered if she'd ever see him again.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve hadn't known he was capable of pulling a helicopter out of the sky. He hadn't expected the situation to morph into one where the world might legitimately be at risk. And he sure as hell never imagined he'd be trying to deal with it as a fugitive.

He needed a team. Anyone who'd signed the accords was off-limits. Nat had said Wanda was still deciding, but the fact that Tony had her under lock and key indicated to him that she'd said no. He bet she'd help, if he could contact her. Which he couldn't. He knew someone who probably could, though.

"What in hell did you get yourself into?" That is what Laura Barton greeted him with when he identified himself. Not even a hello first.

"An enormous mess." Honesty was the only way through this. "I need to talk to Clint."

"He's tucking the kids in. Are you dragging him into whatever you're up to? Because we're supposed to leave for vacation in the morning." She sighed the sigh of a woman who had, at least once, had pretty much every conceivable holiday or special occasion ruined by deployments, disasters, aliens, and megalomaniac robots.

Steve rubbed his forehead. "No. Not really. I know he's retired. I'm not going to ask him to get involved in any sort of fight. I just need him to go bust Wanda out of the compound. And go to LA and pick up a dude who turns into an ant." 

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Steve, did you have a stroke at the end of that sentence? _Can_ you have a stroke?"

"Please, Laura?"

She sighed that sigh again. "Hang on." There was a series of clicks and some shuffling, then the sound of footsteps walking away.

Clint picked up a minute later. "We were going to go waterskiing."

"I heard, I'm sorry. I wouldn't call if it wasn't important."

"Yeah, I know. So what's the deal?"

He explained everything: what had happened to Bucky, the messes in Bucharest and Berlin, and what they were doing now. He told him about Wanda and Scott Lang and the evil army in Siberia.

"If you're trying to appeal to my better angels, Steve, I don't have a lot of those, and they're all _here_."

"You're the only one capable of getting in that compound and rescuing Wanda. You're also the only person I know who understands what it's like to kill people you don't want to while somebody else has control of your mind."

Clint was silent a moment. "I'm going to put you on hold."

Steve turned back towards where Sam was hovering behind him. "I think they're discussing it." He could hear Laura raising her voice in the background. "Yep."

"One could argue that last bit was fighting dirty," Sam pointed out.

"Doesn't make it inaccurate."

There was more yelling and what might have been a door slamming, then Clint came back. "Okay. Give me the information on this Lang guy. And tell me how to get in touch with you."

It wasn't more than ten minutes after hanging up that his phone rang again. It was the Barton's number, but it was Laura. "This goes sideways, you call me yourself. I don't want to find out I'm a widow on the evening news."

Steve knew an order when he heard one. "Yes, ma'am. But I promise I will keep him safe."

"Good."

That night, alone in his cheap, terrible motel room, Steve stared at the ceiling. He was awake, despite how exhausted he was. Something about the Bartons made him very. . . jealous. It was the sort of life he'd always wanted, and had always seemed impossible. Whatever faint possibility there had been was now long gone. He was going to spend the rest of his life on the run, or in jail.

It was miserably depressing, if he thought about it too long. As dark, maybe, as the weeks after he woken up from the ice. Before the Battle of New York had given him purpose. Ever since, he kept chasing fights because they meant he didn't have to be alone with his thoughts, or face his future.

He dug out a second burner phone—they'd purchased a bunch—and sent a text to a number he'd committed to memory just in case. It was a stupid, dangerous thing to do. Sam would probably kill him. He couldn't even articulate why. He just had to. It wasn't like he'd ever see her again. _Kate was the first girl of this century I genuinely liked. It stung that it was fake._

Long minutes ticked by. She was probably asleep. She'd had as long a day as he had. Hell she might even still be at work and telling them -

The phone rang in his hand and he hit the button, bringing it to his ear but not saying anything. "Who said it was fake?" she demanded.

He was so surprised it took him a moment to answer. "Uh. We could start with how your name isn't Kate."

"The name and profession were cover. Everything else was not. Being a spy does not turn off your emotions. And I'm not that good of an actress."

"The only other spy I know is really good at all sorts of emotions."

Sharon sighed. "Yeah, well, she was raised by crazy Russians. I was raised by two lawyers outside of Arlington. So there's some differences in style." There was rustling. "Are you all right? Is this some sort of clearing the air while you bleed out somewhere thing? Because I'll be nicer if that's what it is."

"I am completely wound free," he told her. "Though bleeding out is an apt metaphor."

"Right." She was quiet a moment. "I was not pretending to be attracted to you or nice to you because I was monitoring you. If anything, I had to. . . hold myself in check because I was monitoring you."

"You had this habit of coming out of your apartment, with some cheerful excuse or other, just as I was coming in or out. I saw you ten times more frequently than anyone else in the building. I thought you were doing it because you wanted to talk to me."

"I _did_. I didn't have to talk to you to watch you. I just liked it. You were sweet and you held the door for me and sometimes I got you to do that self conscious laugh and look down at your shoes. None of which made it into my report, if you're curious."

That made him feel better. And worse. "I liked you," he said. "And I'm lousy with girls."

"I thought the laundry thing was pretty smooth." She sighed and her voice was softer when she spoke again. "Look. There are certain things you give up when you become a spy. Normal relationships are one of them. It's really hard to date when you might have to fly out of the country on an hour’s notice and you can't tell them where you're going or why or for how long. It's hard and it's lonely. Maybe - maybe I enjoyed being a normal girl for a while. Flirting with the guy across the hall. And that probably wasn't fair to you. So I'm sorry. But nothing I did or said was with ill intent. I was just as messed up as you."

"I think you give up that stuff when you become a superhero, too," he told her. 

"Guess they didn't tell you that when you signed up for the serum, huh?"

"Pre-serum me wasn't exactly getting a lot of tail. Any, really."

She laughed softly. "I've seen pictures. If you'd been born thirty years earlier you'd have been the ideal consumptive artist. Been beating women off with a stick."

That made him laugh. It felt good to laugh a little. "I'm sorry how it all worked out. I'm sorry we never got coffee."

"Me too," she said softly. She cleared her throat. "Steve, is there anything I can do?"

"To help? Not without committing some sort of crime, no."

"Pretty sure I've already committed some sort of crime already."

"We haven't crossed the threshold into things you can't get back from."

She didn't answer immediately. "Last time you went to war I risked my life backing you."

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to decide if he was really going to do this. "There are more Winter Soldiers. A whole strike team's worth. The shrink from Berlin triggered Bucky with an old Hydra command sequence. Not to make him do anything, but to get that intel. He told me he wanted to watch empires fall."

"Jesus," she whispered. Then, stronger, "You're going after them. You'll need equipment. I can get you some."

It was what he wanted. What they needed if they had any hope of succeeding. "Are you sure? That's pretty 'Rubicon' there."

"I might be able to do it without raising any flags." Her tone indicated how unlikely she thought that was. "But even if I can't. . . I've never been a person to blindly follow orders."

"I would be forever in your debt," he said quietly.

She clicked her tongue. "Coffee and a lifelong debt. I should start a list of things you owe me."

He chuckled. "You should."

"When and where should I meet you?"

"You know Berlin better than I do. Pick the spot. Tomorrow morning at 11 before we go get the rest of them. I just need to steal a getaway car."

She gave him directions to a bridge on the way to the airport. "I'll be there at 11. Take care of yourself."

When he saw her the next day, the first thing she said to him was, "I'm not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car."

"It's low profile," he replied, like it had been a deliberate choice. Modern cars—particularly _German_ cars—were much harder to hot-wire than they'd been in his day. He'd found an old pickup back when he and Nat were fleeing SHIELD. Here all he could find was an ancient VW Beetle. Sam called it Herbie for some reason that was beyond both him and Bucky.

She sauntered around the back of her car. "Good. Because this stuff tends to draw a crowd." She popped the trunk as he reached her.

He had expected guns and maybe some tac gear if he was lucky. What he was was his shield and Sam's wings, sitting on top of what looked like his outfit and some black body armor, presumably for Bucky. Despite what she'd said, he was pretty sure this was going to raise some flags.

"I owe you again," he said.

She smiled at him. "I'm keeping a list." Then she turned and glanced back at the Beetle. "You know he kind of tried to kill me."

Steve couldn't help but smile back. "Sorry. I'll put it on the list, too." She nodded, looking amused. He glanced back into the trunk, the enormity of what she'd done hitting him again. "They're gonna come looking for you."

She sounded resigned but relatively serene as she nodded and said, "I know."

There were so many more things he wanted to say. None of them they had the time or privacy for. So he just said, "Thank you, Sharon."

She nodded, lips pressed together as if she was forcing herself not to say anything. So much hung between them, had been hanging for a very long time. And once again, it was too late to do anything about it. He couldn't just turn and walk away. He couldn't.

 _Well, screw it._ He stepped towards her, sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close enough to kiss. Her hand sunk into his hair and she met him without any hesitation, head tilting to line up perfectly. It was deep and passionate, and said all the things he wished he had time to tell her. And it broke his heart a little how perfect she felt in his arms.

When they had to break for air he didn't go far, resting his head on hers. He was sure he was smiling like an idiot.

She sucked in a breath. "That was-"

"Late," he said, humor trying to hide an ocean of regret.

"Damn right." She leaned back, hand on his shoulder and smiled. If he lived seventy more years he would never forget the way she looked at him right then. As if he was the whole world.

Then she looked down and the moment faded. He stepped back and she said, "I should go." She ran her hand down his arms before letting go at the tips of his fingers, like she couldn't bear to stop touching him. He nodded and made some sort of affirmative noise. 

She smiled at him again, and they traded goodbyes without words. As she stepped around him to get back in the car, he found himself smiling. He'd probably cry later, but holy hell had that felt good.

He made the mistake of glancing back at his car. Bucky and Sam both smiled and nodded approvingly at him, perhaps the first thing they'd ever agreed on. He gave them a look, then leaned in the trunk to pull out everything in it, which he managed to balance on the shield and carry awkwardly back to the car. "You could help," he called at them, catching the trunk latch with the edge of the shield so he could put everything in it.

"You look like you got it," Sam called back.

He slammed the trunk and went around to the driver's side. "I thought you'd want to inspect your wings for evidence someone breathed on them." He looked at the car in front of them, and Sharon gave him one more smile, and a little wave. He grinned like an idiot and waved back. He stood there while she started the car and drove off. Then he shoved his body back into the ridiculously small driver's seat. 

The two of them started to applaud. Steve shook his head and started the car.

"You finally figured out women," Bucky said from the backseat.

Sam turned to look at him. "Not really. This chick's been a Pine Stoically thing for a couple of years now."

"Oh, Steve." The tone Bucky used gave him a sharp sense of deja vu. "Even in the thirties we moved faster than that."

"It was complicated," Steve said.

"She spied on him," Sam said. "Though mostly she was looking after him."

"That is something he needs," Bucky said.

"Like I don't know that?" Sam replied.

Literally the first thing they had ever agreed on, it had to be this. "I'm sitting right here, you know." He merged into traffic and put the pedal to the floor in hopes they didn't die. Germans had lead feet.

Bucky leaned forward. "What else do you know about her?"

Sam shifted so he could look back at him. "She's Peggy Carter niece. Well, what, great niece? Something like that."

"Is that why she was spying on him?"

"You'd have to ask Nick Fury about that."

There was silence from the back seat. "I shot him."

"Buncha times,” Sam said. “Didn't stick."

Another pause. "Huh." He punched Steve's shoulder. "Hey, I remember her, I think I fought with her and she could handle herself. You should have asked her to come with us."

" _No_ ," Steve said emphatically.

"I thought we needed all the help we could get."

"She already ruined her life for me, I'm not going to ask her to risk it, too."

"Were you concerned watching her kick ass would be too distracting?"

He was going to kill both of them. "I was concerned she'd end up dead and I'd never be able to live with myself."

For the briefest moment Bucky looked chastised. Then he looked at Sam again. "Peggy got mad a him once 'cause some blonde kissed him. She shot at him, fortunately when he was holding the shield. It was all he could talk about for two days."

"It was both terrifying, and hot," Steve replied with a sigh, winding his way up the ramp of the airport parking deck.

"Sharon delayed the Insight launch," Sam said. "Not by more than a minute or two, but given how close to the wire Steve was, without her we'd all be dead."

Bucky contemplated that a moment, then looked at Steve. "She kicked me in the face yesterday. If that does anything for you."

He spotted the white van and parked beside it. "I never thought I would see the day that I considered Clint Barton a relief from snark, but here we are," he said as he opened his door. 

Behind him, he heard Sam unbuckling his seat belt while muttering, "Was he always this grumpy?" He closed the car door before Bucky could reply.


	4. Chapter 4

There were certain things Sharon gave up when she left SHIELD for the CIA. No more undercover work. No more black ops. She'd moved from her place in DC to a nice, if soulless, flat in Berlin. She'd lost the status and seniority she'd earned. The job was safer, with less variety and far longer time lines. Some days she'd felt more like an office drone or a hall monitor than a spy. 

Choosing to help Steve at the risk of her own career—and freedom, if she was being honest—hadn't been a difficult decision, in the end. Right and wrong were subjective, and she could certainly see the benefit of oversight. But the Accords were a hammer where a scalpel was needed. Sharon didn't like arbitrary rules or vindictive laws. She'd never been a fan of bullies.

Old habits died hard and spying was quite literally in her blood. So when she left the airport parking lot, she went to the Berlin train station, opened a locker she'd rented when she first came to the city, and retrieved the go bag she'd stashed there. Inside was cash and IDs, plus hair dye, a burner phone, and clothing.

After a clothing change in the bathroom, she studied the departures board and hopped a train to Switzerland. Not her first choice, but French was her strongest language and who could resist Swiss chocolate? She watched the news while she waited, but saw nothing new on Steve and the others by boarding time. She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

As she watched Germany fly past the window she let herself grieve for the life she'd known. And wondered, with more that a little regret, if she'd ever see him again.

In a cheap hotel room in Zurich, she watched footage of the massive battle that had happened while she slept on a train. Most of Steve's team had been arrested. He and Barnes had "fled the scene". Someone had been seriously injured, but they didn't say who. Given the scale of the damage, she was surprised it was only one.

Part of her wanted to go meddle. Break into the Raft, figure out what happened to Steve. Something. Idleness didn't sit well. But she needed to know her limitations. And her part in this was over. Right now her focus needed to be on keeping under the radar.

She got a hotel room long enough to dye her hair dark brown and buy some new clothes at local shops. Then she started hunting for longer term housing and somewhere that would hire her with her lack of references and minimal paperwork.

She couldn't help but think of the little one room hovel Barnes had been in. Her goal was going to be "better than that." That was about all she could hope for.

Being a waitress was terrible, but they paid her under the table. It helped a lot to be young, bilingual, and pretty. She didn't know how long she could stay here—her life was going to be all about moving a lot now—but she tried to find whatever peace she could, for the short term.

Sharon thought about Steve so often she began occasionally thinking she saw him in crowds. The silence about his whereabouts told her more than it would someone else, but nowhere near enough.

And then one day, he showed up in the restaurant where she worked.

He was in a leather jacket, ball cap and sunglasses. Because that was a good disguise for a man who'd been on magazines, newspapers and the nightly news on a regular basis. At least he'd grown a beard, which helped a bit. But he was most definitely still Steve Rogers.

She brought him a glass of water and hissed, "What are you _doing_ here?"

Steve looked up at her. "I came to rescue you."

She was so surprised that for a moment she just stared at him. Why on earth had he assumed she needed rescuing? Of all the people who had helped him she was probably second only to Barton for people who could handle themselves. It was stupid and reckless to poke his head out for her. He'd been an absolute investigative dead end and now he was sitting in a bistro in the largest city in Switzerland.

What came out of her mouth was, "That's adorable."

He flushed, pink going all the way to his ears. "Yeah, well. You trashed your life for me. Figured you'd be on the run on your own and. . ." he shrugged. "I had to try."

Her boss was trying to catch her eye from the kitchen. She scribbled her address on her pad and dropped it in Steve's lap. "I get off in half an hour. Meet me there." He unfolded the paper and read it and she closed her eyes for a minute. "Try not to get spotted, Captain Obvious."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured.

He drank his water and a small coffee before leaving ten minutes before shift change. She clocked out, got her pay and tips and hiked home, stopping at the shops for bread and cheese and a bottle of wine. Maybe any neighbors who saw him would assume she had a date.

Steve was lurking in the shadows in the hallway outside her apartment. She gave him points for trying, but he was probably more likely to provoke suspicion looking like a creeper in the hallway than politely waiting at her door like a delivery person.

Still, she smiled when she saw him and bussed his cheeks like her was her date before unlocking her door and letting him in. It was nicer than Barnes's hovel had been, with two whole rooms instead of one, a fairly nice bathroom and a view of a little local garden out the main window.

She took her groceries to the kitchen and started slicing bread and cheese on the little butcher block table. "Where have you been hiding?"

"Wakanda," he told her. "It didn't surprise me it didn't make the news, but we raided the Raft."

Her brows lifted and she glanced at him. "Made amends with the king, I take it?"

"He thought Bucky killed his father. Once he realized what had happened, the situation changed. He's trying to figure out how to fix Bucky."

"That's good." She arranged the food on a plate and brought it over to him, sitting on the couch and setting the plate on her cheap coffee table. "I'm sure Nat's in the wind. What about the others?"

"Clint went home. Apparently nobody who's telling knows where the the farm is. He called me a couple of days after we parted ways for the sole purpose of putting Laura on the phone so she could blister my ears. Deservedly so, I did make some promises as to his safety that I clearly couldn't keep. Lang said he could handle himself, but we were pretty sure he'd get arrested as soon as he hit US soil." Steve shrugged. “He, Sam, and Wanda are in Wakanda. As is the ex-SHIELD shrink who helped me get in."

She nodded and munched on crunchy bread and creamy French cheese. "And you came to bring me down, as well?"

"I came to offer you sanctuary."

Leave no man behind. She was kind of flattered to be on the list. "Well," she said quietly. "Beats being a waitress at a coffee house."

He grinned, and was something beyond adorable. "Good."

It was impossible not to smile back. "When do we leave?"

"I could do for a couple hours of sleep, but after that as soon as possible."

She pointed her her room. "You're welcome to the bed. I'll see what I can do about a car."

"A car?"

She should have opened the wine. "We can't fly; you'll light the cameras up like a Christmas tree and that's without me next to you. Train might be an option, but it would only take us so far, as well as increasing the number of people getting a good look at our faces. So unless the king gave you his private jet - something that you would have mentioned and would almost _certainly_ have made the news - we're driving."

He stared at her. "We're driving to Wakanda?"

"Did you have another option?"

He tilted his head. "Well. No."

"How did you get here?"

"Jumped out of a plane into the Mediterranean and swam ashore in Italy."

Well, of course he did. "Doesn't really work in reverse. We're gonna need to drive. I'll check some maps, but easiest route's probably through Gibraltar. There'll be security, but nothing like at an airport and we're far enough out from initial reports there won't be any additional guards around." She studied him critically. The beard was decent camouflage, but his hair was still very light, which would stand out in the Mediterranean. "Have you ever wanted to be a brunette?"

"People back in Wakanda might stare less. Learning the language has taught me the children I thought were, well, like the kids back home are in fact saying, 'Mommy, what's wrong with that man's head?'"

She laughed a little. "All right then. Car and hair dye." She frowned. "Do you have clothes and stuff?"

"Yes." He paused. "I have money. I didn't know how much you'd have, so I brought a bunch."

That was something, at least. "I have some stashed, plus some IDs." An op like this should take at least a couple of days to prep and plan. She had a go-bag ready, but she wasn't a high profile target and the odds of her needing to bug out at a moment's notice were pretty slim. Now she had Captain America to keep hidden and getting out of civilization was a must. "Get some sleep, I'll gather up what we need and we can head out tonight."

He watched her a moment. "I didn't mean to come give orders or anything. You are not obligated to come with me if you'd rather stay in Zurich. I understand."

Like she was going to send him back alone. "No. It's. . . I don't want you to think I don't appreciate this. Really. I was just thinking that I should move to somewhere less populous and asylum somewhere first world with people I know is really appealing. It's just if you'd _called_ or something I probably could have gotten myself to the Wakandan border without a lot of hassle."

"You were really hard to find. The closest Wakandan Intelligence could get was 'somewhere in the Zurich area, probably'. What was I supposed to do, take out a classified ad?"

"Yes," she said. Coded or subtle newspaper ads were a time-honored spycraft. She'd been checking regularly in case Nat or one of her other contacts reached out. "Unless you were going to put something like 'Hey Sharon, meet me in Nairobi on the 21st at 11am, yours, S. Rogers.' In which case, no, that would have been the wrong tact."

"I'm not a spy," he said. "I haven't had cause or even the ability to attempt stealth in years. Last time I did, I had Nat to organize it and tell me how much I sucked at it."

"I know." She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "I know. And I really do appreciate you coming to get me." When she had pictured seeing him again, their reunions had included a lot more kissing and flirting and a lot less planning a month long road trip halfway around the world. 

"If you'd rather meet me in Nairobi, we can do that," he said quietly. "I can find my way back."

And probably cause five international incidents on the way. Saying that would probably make him feel worse, though, so she aimed for humor. "What's the matter, Steve. Don't want to be stuck in a car with me for a few weeks?"

"You can't possibly be more annoying than Sam and Bucky."

She grinned. "That is almost certainly true." Unsure of where they actually stood, she reached out and touched his shoulder. "Go get some sleep. I'll gather up supplies and we can get going. I promise, no VW bug."

He reached up and squeezed her hand. "Be careful. I don't want to lose you again."

The sentiment, and the honest, raw look he was giving her warmed her. "I'm always careful."

He nodded, and then let her go as stood—though he never took his eyes off her face. For a heartbeat they just stood and looked at each other and it was that moment in the parking deck all over again, equal parts awkward and expectant. But he didn't move and she had a lot to do. Supplies to buy, a car to steal, a route to plan—plus several alternates, if possible. So she smiled and nodded and turned away. He didn't say anything else, just walked to her bedroom, hopefully to get some sleep.

*

Sharon's bed was too soft and smelled of her, which was both distracting and comforting. Steve managed a few hours, though they were restless and haunted by fractured, confused dreams. She woke him up with a hand on his arm sometime after dark. "I brought some food. Then we can dye your hair and get on the road."

His stomach rumbled as he sat up. "Thank you."

Clearly she heard it, because she grinned. "I hope I got enough food."

She had it spread all over her little table, and he dug in with enthusiasm. He was starving. It took a lot of food to run his body, a volume that would probably be conspicuous on their journey. Another thing for her to worry about, he assumed.

He'd really fucked this up.

Sharon sat across from him, eating her meal quietly. She had a note book filled with scribbles and crossed of lines. Her hair, now a dark brown, was pulled back in a messy bun held with a clip. She looked different with the dark hair, younger somehow.

She glanced up and caught him looking. With a crooked smile she said, "I like the beard."

He rubbed his cheek. "Seemed a good disguise."

"I've always envied men that. Such a convenient thing to change your face."

"I'll probably look like a mountain man by the time we get to Wakanda."

"I'm sure you can make it work." She was smiled when she said it and it was the closest to their previous easy flirting they'd managed since he'd gotten here. She cleared her throat and looked down at her notebook. "I mapped out our route. We'll head south through France and Spain and cross at Gibraltar, like I said. Then we follow the African coast until we turn east. I haven't decided where yet. We have to weigh the risks of lots of border crossings vs driving through larger but more dangerous countries. Three to four weeks is my guess, depending on stops and how big our detours end up being.”

He leaned over to look at her map. "It wouldn't be faster to go east from here and around—" He saw it as soon as the words left his mouth. "Oh, we'd have to drive through Israel, wouldn't we? That's not a casual border crossing there." 

"Exactly. That's probably the most heavily guarded border in the world. We wouldn't make it five feet." She tapped another spot on the map. "The only other option is to cross here. It's a six hour ferry that lands in Algeria. Much smaller port, less guards, less borders to cross. But we'd then have to cross the Sahara. Hundreds of miles of uninhabited desert. It would take at least two days and if anything went wrong or we misjudged how much food and water we needed, well. . . I'd probably be dead."

"My cells can heal from nearly anything. But they need fuel to do it—and they need it in abundance. I'll starve or dehydrate as fast as you."

Her gaze swept him, somewhat assessing, somewhat. . . appraising. "Right. So two strikes against that one." She looked at the map again, then folded it. "I bet the coast is beautiful."

"We could stop and go swimming."

She fumbled folding the map in a way that was kind of adorable. It took her two tries to get it to lay flat. "I like swimming," was all she said.

He grinned at her. "So we're dying my hair? I assume the beard, too?"

"I got a box of Just for Men, just for you."

He nudged her. "Will you help me?"

"Of course." She made a halfhearted attempt at cleaning up, then dug in her bags for a couple of boxes. "Come to the bathroom. And. . . you'll probably want to take your shirt off."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, yanking his t-shirt over his head without a second thought.

Sharon was busy reading the back of the boxes. They were actually in the bathroom before she looked up and when she did whatever she'd been about to say seemed to get stuck. "Uh." For a moment, he remembered staggering out of the super soldier pod and Peggy being dumbstruck as she touched his chest.

After a moment of silence, she blew out a breath and looked away. "Uh. Have a seat on the edge of the bathtub. I'll grab a towel."

He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but was afraid that would make it more awkward, so he just did as she told him. She returned a moment later with an old towel that she draped over his shoulders. Then she climbed into the tub and stood behind him. He watched in the mirror as she pulled on plastic gloves and shook up a squirt bottle. A moment later he felt cold liquid on his head and her hands rubbing it into his hair.

"The dark hair looks good on you," he told her.

She smiled. "Thanks. When I was ten I horrified my mother by trying to dye it myself. Stained the bathroom sink permanently." She dumped on more dye, until the bottle was empty, then tossed it into the tub before using both hands to massage his hair and run the dye through his hair. It felt remarkably good.

He closed his eyes and sighed. There was something about having a woman you wanted touch you like this. It was different from the plethora of casual touches that filled his life. It was somehow. . . intimate.

He was very aware of every time her hips or stomach or, heaven help him, breasts brushed his back. At some point, it stopped being about dyeing his hair and started just being a head rub. He heard her whisper, "Okay," mostly to herself, then she lifted her hands and peeled her gloves off. "We'll let that set and I can help you with the beard."

"I'm probably going to stain half my face," he muttered.

"It's a lot cleaner," she said, opening the box. She pulled out something that looked like a weird sideways comb. "You comb it in and then rinse it when you rinse the hair. Should be pretty tidy." She handed him the comb and opened another box. "They're made for touching up grey, so I figured we'd need several to cover the whole thing."

"You are endlessly brilliant, you know that?"

She smiled widely, clearly pleased by the compliment. "I'm very good at this." She crouched down in front of him, putting a hand on his thigh briefly to balance herself. Then she started combing the color through his beard.

He watched her face, which was very close to his. "Hey, Sharon?"

Her eyes flicked up to catch his gaze. "Yeah?"

"T'Challa's people got a full, detailed incident report of what went down that day. The shield and wings were stolen several hours before I called you."

That was clearly not what she'd been expecting. She blinked a few times, then went back to what she was doing. "There was a lot of chaos when you pulled the chopper down. People went out to search, drag the water. I saw an opportunity and took it."

"Why?"

She tossed comb into the bathtub behind him and took the one out of his hand to keep going. "The Accords were good in theory and flawed in practice. You should have been involved in finding Barnes from the get go. If you had, it would have gone a lot differently. By then we knew it had been a set up. I didn't have all the information, but I knew enough to understand there was something bigger going on. And that you weren't going to let it go. I . . . hoped that you'd get in touch with me and I'd be able to help you out." She tossed the other comb away and rocked backed on her heels studying him. "Worse case I could start a little Cap shrine in my living room."

He grinned, though both his scalp and in face were now stinging. Hair dye really smelled bad, too. "I can't decide if that's adorable or creepy."

"I'm kidding, so let's go with adorable." She checked her watch and got to her feet. "You should be good to rinse. Be careful not to get it in your eyes. I'll go pack my bag."

He nodded, and she left him in the bathroom. He turned the water on and didn't bother waiting for it to warm up. Cold shower would do him good. When he went back out to the living room about ten minutes later, she had a small suitcase and a duffle bag by the door. The kitchen looked rummaged through and she was kneeling next to a couple of pried up boards in the living room, counting stacks of cash. She did a little double take when she saw him, but seemed satisfied with his transformation.

They gathered up her bags and headed downstairs to the early 2000s Mercedes sedan she had parked out front. "I thought it would be a shittier car."

"Stealing a beater is fine when you're making a getaway." She pulled out a set of keys from her pocket and opened the trunk. "I bought this. Cash. I am not getting caught 'cause of stolen plates."

"Smart move. It does have to get us a very long way."

"Figured you'd appreciate the leg room, too." They loaded their bags in and climbed in. Sharon volunteered to take first shift. "Ready?" she asked, starting the engine.

He'd really expected her to make another joke about the WV Beetle. "As ever.”


	5. Chapter 5

Before they pulled away from the curb, Steve noticed Sharon look up at her flat one more time, but she didn't say anything. "If I timed this right, we'll hit the border just before shift change. Should mean a smooth transfer. Other borders it's probably better to hit midday, get lost in the crowd."

"At least I don't have the shield," he commented. "God knows how we'd get that through customs."

Clearly surprised, she looked over at him. "Where is it?"

"No idea. Stark has it, I assume." He sighed. "It's kind of a long story."

She was quiet a moment, weaving through dinner hour traffic. Then she said quietly, "We've got plenty of time."

So he told her, the whole messy tale. About the airport fight, about Zemo and his quest to ruin them. About the video and the brutal fight that followed. "You ever fight somebody fueled by rage who is trying desperately to kill you while you are trying to not die yet not kill them? It was like that."

"I can't say that I have. But I can imagine." They were on Route 3 heading for the French border, traffic had lightened as they left the city. "I'm sorry, Steve. That sounds terrible."

"I smashed the arc reactor with the shield, hoping he wouldn't be crazy enough to try and take me without the suit. As Bucky and I were leaving, he shouted at me that I didn't deserve the shield. That his father had made it. So I. . . put it down."

"God." She drove in silence a while. In the distance, he could see the lights of the border crossing. "I remembered when the Starks died. I was just a kid. Aunt Peggy was so upset. And Tony just. . . self destructed." She shook her head sharply. "Sorry, you don't need any more guilt. I just-" She reached over and squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry."

"I couldn't bring myself to tell him," he said. "Nobody knew but Nat and I. I didn't think it would add any good to the situation, and he was already clearly having trouble handling the aftermath of New York. Part of me hoped he'd find it in the SHIELD dump. Part of me hoped it would just go away. Which is kind of cowardly, I suppose."

"You're only human," she said. She gave him a little smile, slowing down for the border crossing line. "Larger than life, some of the time. But human. And humans are cowardly, sometimes. They think with their heart instead of their head. And they make mistakes. I think you did your best. With the information you had, you did your best. That's all any of us can do."

"Did I? I mean, look at what happened.” He gestured in the general direction of Germany, which was north of them.

"Hindsight is always 20/20, Steve. If you'd known then what you know now, then yeah, you'd do things differently. But if you'd been right about Zemo, if he'd been looking to wake up the other Soldiers, then it would have been worth it. At least that's what your team thought." She was quiet a moment. "You make the best choice you can, with the information you have. That's all any of us can do. You lost a lot and regretting that is normal. But you can't let it eat you. It's as toxic as vengeance."

Thinking about what he'd lost made it hard to sleep. "I was happy there for a little while."

She didn't respond. He hadn't really expected her to. There wasn't much to say. They rolled through the border crossing without incident. The guard barely glanced at them. It probably helped that Sharon spoke French like a native and smiled very sweetly at the clearly tired guy. Then they were across the border into France, just a little bit closer to safety.

"You know," Sharon said finally, when the border lights had faded from the rearview. "We'd need to be careful, but there's no reason we can't have a little fun on this trip. See some sights. Eat some good food." She glanced at him. "Have you ever been to France when not on mission?"

"Not that I can think of, no." He looked over at her. "You rushed us out of Zurich because of my obviousness and now you want to sightsee in the french countryside?"

She sighed and it was a very female sigh. He'd heard it from Nat and Wanda on occasion. Mostly Nat. "I wasn't suggesting we spend a long weekend at a B&B. But we can probably strike some sort of balance between that and death march." She paused, then added, softer, "You've been through a lot of shit. I just thought we could. . . lighten the mood. You can forget I said anything."

"No, no, I. . . that sounds nice." He hadn't really thought about how this would go. Would it be the two of them in a car, driving until they were too exhausted and stopping only to sleep? Or would it be as a much a journey as a mission. He rather liked the latter.

"All right." She smiled a little. "Let's try to get a little farther from the border, then start looking for somewhere to stop for the night."

She gotten a bunch of maps, and he fished one out. "I think we're a couple of hours from Lyon," he said. "Dernier was from Lyon."

The smile widened and she nodded. "Lyon it is."

They reached Lyon before midnight and Sharon cruised for a while before choosing a mid-range hotel flanked by restaurants and touristy shops. She parked and stretched her arms over head head. "Okay. Ready to play exhausted tourist?"

"The first part is certainly covered," he told her.

"Yeah." She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, then opened her door. They gathered up their bags and went in. Sharon chatted with the front desk guy as he found them a room. Steve's French was decent, if not native fluent, but he could tell she'd purposely messed up her accent and hunted for words she surely knew in an attempt to seem more touristy.

The hotel sprawled out to the back, away from the street, which hopefully meant the rooms were quiet. Theirs was on the third floor and had two queen beds rather than a king. He found he wasn't entirely sure what to think about that.

"The front desk apologized profusely," Sharon commented, flopping down on one of the beds. "It's all they had."

He sat on the other one. "From the stories Nat and Clint have told me, I am expecting at some point in this adventure we'll be stuck sharing a camp cot in a barn, so we might as well enjoy the space while we've got it."

She laughed the laugh of someone who knew exactly of what he spoke. "Yeah," she said quietly. She sighed and sat up, with obvious effort. "I'm going to change, get ready for bed." She stopped at the bathroom door and squinted at him. "You're a morning person, aren't you?"

"I'm sure you must have noticed my dawn runs while living next door."

"Yeah." She shook her head and headed into the bathroom. "This'll be fun."

He stretched out and closed his eyes. "It's probably better I don't. Run, that is."

"Probably not," she called through the door. "Maybe somewhere less populated. We can find you a stretch of beach in Morocco or Mauritania."

"I do need to work out," he said. "My muscles seem to require maintenance like everyone else's."

"We'll figure something out. Maybe you can pull the car if it breaks down." He heard running water and tried not to imagine her changing or washing up or whatever else she might be doing.

He sighed, wondering what they were going to do about this thing between them. He could still feel it simmering. She had to be able to, too.

She came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed in matching pajamas that looked very soft. She tapped his foot as she passed him. "Good night, Steve."

He longed to touch her, but he didn't. "Goodnight, Sharon." He watched her climb into to other bed, settling with her back to him.  
 This was going to be a very long trip.

*

When Sharon woke in the morning, the room was empty and the shower was running. With a little groan, she thumped her head on the pillow. Hadn't been a dream. She was really on the run with Steve Rogers.

Well, there were worse places to be. If anyone did spot them they'd probably be able to fight their way out pretty easily. And Zurich had been boring.

 She sat up and combed her fingers through her hair. The clock said it was almost nine, she had been tired. The shower went off, and she heard him moving around in there. It was only a minute, and then the door opened and he came out, in nothing but little hotel towel—what was it with cheap hotels and minuscule towels?

Judging by his hesitation, he'd clearly expected her to still be asleep. "Hi."

"Morning." She could do this. She was a grown up. She had seen men's chests before. "Room service or brave a restaurant?"

"I honestly could do either, as long as there's a lot of food. Room service is probably safer." He turned to open his bag, holding the towel with one hand.

She’d had some idea what he must look like. His running gear didn't leave much to the imagination. And TV was plastered with muscled, six pack bearing men. But there was something entirely different about seeing him in the flesh, nearly naked in a small room with her. Close enough she could probably touch him. 

Sharon had been middle of the road, popularity-wise, in high school. Pretty and athletic enough to avoid most teasing, but not aggressive enough to be an alpha girl. She remembered, rather distinctly, the sour ache of crushing on the wrestling star that was totally out of her league, despite the smiles he gave her in French class. It never occurred to her she would revisit that sensation north of thirty, but here she was.

Clearing her throat, she drew her gaze away and reached for the hotel information booklet on the nightstand. "I'll order the whole menu, if needed. Do you want to stop at the cemetery on our way out? Pay your respects to Dernier?"

"That would be nice." When she glanced up, he was turning back towards the bathroom with his clothes. Watching his muscles move was mesmerizing. He caught her staring when he turned to close the door. She was sure she was now beet red, but he just grinned and closed the door.

In the next hotel she was going to need to find some privacy to deal with this or she was going to explode well before Wakanda.

She had the food ordered by the time he emerged, and he smiled at her. The beard and the dark hair were different enough he might almost look like someone else, but then he smiled and it was unmistakable. It was pretty much impossible not to smile back.

"So what is Wakanda like?" she asked, tugging her trip notebook out of her purse. "All I know is rumors."

"A little like a science fiction movie. Their technology is amazing, their architecture is gorgeous. They're a tiny and very rich country with a monopoly on a highly desirable export and an absolute monarchy. To be honest, I was kind of expecting it to be like Saudi Arabia or UAE, you know?" He shook his head. "But if there's poverty or abuse anywhere, we haven't seen it. Their social systems put Scandinavia to shame."

She smiled. "Sounds like a really nice place to retire."

"Well. They might draft you. Pretty much everyone who is able-bodied is part of. . . well, they don't think of it as their military. It's more of a warrior class. Though they're pretty weird about white people. Understandably. T’Challa informed me that fighting with them was part of the trade for the asylum. His sister suggested I help train kids in hunting because I'd be very easy to spot in the jungle."

Laughing, she shook her head and started to climb out of bed. Then the rest of what he'd said hit her. Recruitment. A job fighting, or maybe in security or intelligence. Something she could use her skills in. "Oh," she said softly. "I'd given up on that."

"Being of use?" he asked, with an understanding smile.

"Yeah." She bent to rummage in her bag for clothes. "You think sometimes about what comes after. Spying, being in intelligence. I always figured I'd be like Peggy, in it until my health interfered. Getting. . . disavowed and exiled hadn't been on my list."

"I'm sorry. I really. . . I trashed a lot of lives, didn't I?"

She propped a hand on her hip and gave him a quelling look. "I don't recall you holding a gun to my head, Steven Rogers. I did what I thought was right, as I have my entire life. Even Carter luck runs out eventually."

"I'm glad I found you," he said quietly.

Softening, she smiled. "Me, too."

Once they got their day started, it took them forever to find the cemetery. Then Steve wanted to go find a flower shop and get flowers. "They were all gone when I thawed," he told her in the little cafe they went to for lunch. "Everyone but Peggy."

Sharon sipped her coffee. "I know. I was in the Academy when Morita died. He was the last. I flew out to California with her to attend the service."

"It was brutal, to have just lost everybody." He sighed. "Usually there's some pacing to it, you know?"

"Yeah." Sharon couldn't imagine it. You read about people who lost their whole family in a car accident or something. To lose everyone you knew and loved in one swoop had to be a nightmare. "She used to call me, sometimes, when you'd visit. 'Steve was here today. Handsome as ever. Thinks he has to save the world.'" She could do a reasonable mimic of Peggy's accent. "I think she just wanted to confirm with someone that it was real."

"Sometimes she wouldn't remember I was alive until she saw me, and she'd cry all over again."

Visiting Peggy had always been a roll of the dice. Especially the last couple of years. "She called me by the wrong name a lot. Only in person. Though I suppose she'd only call me if she was having a good day."

"I don't think I ever got other names. Perhaps because I am an artifact from her long-term memory."

"You're pretty unique," Sharon told him with a gentle smile.

He drained his coffee and waved for the check. "So, anything else you'd like to do before we get on the road?"

She looked around, drinking her coffee again. If this were a proper vacation she'd probably want to go shopping. Maybe buy something lacy and silky and flirty. She allowed herself a moment of fantasy, then gathered herself back up and set her cup down. "No. I think I'm all right. We should probably get started."

The waitress came over with the check, smiling at the both of them. She looked at Steve for a moment. "You know if you were blonde, you'd look like Captain America. Sorry, that's probably not a compliment anymore, is it?"

Steve looked a little flummoxed so Sharon reached over to cover his hand, laughing. "You know he gets that all the time? I keep worrying someone will start a fight with him."

"Times like these. . ." She shook her head. "Any way, you two have a lovely afternoon."

Across from her, Steve's surprise had turned into panic. He had absolutely no poker face whatsoever. She squeezed his hand to get his attention, still smiling. "Calm down, put your hat on and let's get moving."

He nodded jerkily and stood, scooping up his hat and shoving it on his head. Sharon slung her purse over her shoulder and caught his arm, hugging it as they walked out of the cafe. "Relax, you're on vacation with your girlfriend in France. Happy times."

"Last time I tried to hide in a crowd, Nat kissed me," he muttered.

"I can arrange that," she said, before she could think it through.

He stopped walking. "I thought maybe we were ignoring that."

Oh, this was not the time or place for this conversation. She'd really have preferred to get out of sight of the restaurant. "I didn't know how to bring it up."

"I kissed you," he said, sounding defensive. "Ball's in your court now." She decided to start walking, and thankfully he did as well.

"You kissed me after I'd broken international law for you, immediately before going into a battle you didn't know if you were coming back from. That's sort of . . . extenuating circumstances. It's not like you gave me a peck on my doorstep after dinner and a movie."

"Well I _wanted_ to, but then Sam showed up."

She blushed. "How much did they tease you after the kiss?"

Now he blushed. "They applauded when I got back into the car."

"I'm _really_ sorry I missed that." They reached the Mercedes and she stopped and turned to him. "I liked kissing you. I'd like to do it again. Jumping your bones at the beginning of a month-long road trip seemed unwise."

"How about we table that until we're somewhere safe?"

"Agreed." She tossed him the keys. "Your turn to drive."

Once they were on the road, he said, "We need to get out of Europe."

"Agreed." She double checked her notes. "It'll suck, but if we drive in shifts we can get through Spain without stopping." She looked over at him. "It's probably worth it."

He nodded. "I don't need much sleep. We can make it."

And so they spent the next sixteen hours driving south. They stopped for bathroom breaks and to load up on drinks and snacks for the car. Steve really did eat enough for three and most of the time she was driving was only so he could use both hands to do so.

The border into Spain was more crowded than the Swiss one, but still pretty relaxed. She had Steve pull his hat down and slump, pretending to nap, and they sailed through smoothly. Night fell and she let him take over around ten as she was starting to see double.

At some point she fell asleep. She woke when the car stopped, and opened her eyes to the first beginnings of twilight over the Mediterranean. Stretching, she watched the view a moment. "Being on the run has advantages."

"I have no idea when the first Ferry is, but the office is over there." He pointed. "One of us should go see if we can get tickets."

"I'll go," she said, bending to grab her purse. She was stiff everywhere, so the walk would do her good. "There might be a camera in the office." Climbing out of the car, she strolled over to the building.

Her Spanish wasn't as strong as her French, but she managed to buy tickets for the next ferry, which was leaving in less than ten minutes. She bought a bottle of water and some chips and brought them back to Steve. "We're good. Drive on board and we'll be in Morocco in less than an hour."

The guy had given her paperwork, for transporting the car, which she filled out while Steve drove them to the loading area. She was once again glad she'd decided to buy this car. 

By the time the sun breached the horizon, they were out in the green sea. They went up on deck to get some fresh air, and as they stood at the rail, Steve reached for her hand. She was grimy and sore and exhausted, and he couldn't be much better. But there fingers tangled together and for a moment, everything was all right.


	6. Chapter 6

Once in the city, Sharon had Steve drive around while she did some research on her phone. Then she gave him directions to a hotel that looked way too nice to take in two road weary tourists in desperate need of a shower.

"Just trust me," she told him, walking into the hotel lobby with her bag slung over her shoulder.

He trailed behind her and watched her charm the young guy behind the check-in guest with a tale of canceled flights and detours and a hotel that had given away their room. She was sweet and funny and garnered sympathy not just from the front desk kid, but the concierge and the manager that came to see what the fuss was about.

It helped she was offering to pay in cash.

When she'd been working in Vienna and Berlin he'd been too distracted by worry for Bucky to really appreciate her in her element. It wasn't until later it had occurred to him how very good she must be to pick the useful lead out of a thousand false tips. And the head start that skill had bought him.

The bellhop brought them to a room on the second highest floor. It was. . . Tony worthy in its fanciness. Plush white carpet, leather chairs, gleaming wood tables. And one very comfortable looking king bed.

Sharon smiled at the hop, tipped him, and put the Do Not Disturb sign out.

"For that magnificence, you may have the shower first," Steve told her.

"Liked that, did you?" She shrugged out of the flannel shirt she was wearing over her tank top, walking over to the bench the bell hop had left their bags on and around. "They're bringing up a complimentary breakfast, to 'welcome us properly.' I told them just to knock and leave it outside because we'd be showering and changing." She dug through her bags looking for clothes. "Seemed weird to ask for more than two meals, so try to leave me a few bites if you can."

"I do know how to share."

She smiled. "I don't want your growling stomach to keep me up all night, is all." He wasn't sure if it was getting out of Europe, or the conversation they'd had in Lyon, or maybe just a buzz at a mission well done, but this was the Sharon he'd been hoping to find. Quick and funny and flirting with him, just a little. He watched her saunter into the bathroom and close the door. A moment later the water turned on.

Food arrived while she was still in there. He brought it in and set it up on their little table. Manners said he should wait, but he was _starving_ and she'd told him to eat, so he cleared one of the plates. Then he got up and went to the glass doors and opened them to look at the beautiful if windy view of the city and the water beyond.

He heard the water turn off and a few minutes later the door creaked open. "Their bath products are as nice as you might assume." He looked over his shoulder to see her sit at the table, wrapped in a plush robe, hair up in a towel.

She sighed in contentment, unwrapping her utensils. "I have no idea what most of this is, but it looks delicious."

"I admit, I expected we'd be staying in a pay-by-the-hour kind of place. I've seen some of Nat's hiding spots and they were pretty shady. This is very James Bond."

"Nat was trained by Cold War Russians. Blend with the crowd, keep a low profile, strike from the shadows. Hence the spider metaphor." She ate some of her breakfast and tried the tea, which got a nose wrinkle and she switched to juice. "She's also prettier than me, and stands out more, so the less people get a good look at her the better. If INTERPOL asks the front desk about any odd foreigners that came through here a few days ago, we aren't going to stand out from any of the other tired, mildly inept tourists that flitted through their orbit."

He looked back out at the city. "In my first life Tangier was a favorite spot for spies and smugglers. Peggy told me once that anybody could vanish here."

"Still true, to a degree. If you hadn't shown up I'd probably have ended up somewhere like this. Port town, lots of tourist traffic, lots of cash flowing through. Keep to yourself and don't ask questions and people will leave you alone."

"Glad you hadn't gotten here yet, I might have never found you." He sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes. "You save me any hot water?"

"Some." She watched him, still eating her breakfast. "You want me to save you some of this?"

He had enough in his stomach to sleep, which was all he wanted at this point. "Go ahead." He went into the bathroom, happy to find a second robe in there. The water was hot and forceful, and he stood under it for probably far too long before scrubbing the road grime off.

When he got back out he found the room dark, curtains drawn. Sharon had cleaned up the breakfast tray and was curled up on the far side of the bed, robe draped over the back of a chair. All he could make out in the dim light was her dark hair on the pillow and the curve of a shoulder peeking out from under the covers.

He stared at the bed for a long moment. All of his clothes were dirty, and he really didn't feel like putting something back on and sleeping in that. But climbing into bed naked was somewhere on the spectrum between presumptuous and creepy. After a debate he settled for laying on top of the covers in his robe. It must have been some sort of honeymoon suite as the robes were his/hers and his was actually large enough to be comfortable, not a usual experience with hotel linens. There was some sort of decorative throw thing across the foot of the bed and he pulled it over his lower legs. Close enough.

Getting situated must have roused her, because she rolled over and her hand moved under the covers, apparently reaching for him. When she didn't find him she cracked an eye open and arched a brow. "Steve."

"It's fine," he told her. The throw was scratchy, but he was committed now.

"I promise not to wedge my cold toes between your calves."

"I didn't want to put dirty clothes back on."

The other brow went up. It was too dark to see if she was blushing, but the silence got very heavy. "Thank you for the warning. I promise not to be offended and/or to keep my hands to myself. Get under the covers, these sheets are like a million thread count."

He sighed, and stood to peel back the covers on his side. "As long as you're not offended, I don't care what you do with your hands," he muttered and dropped the robe to climb in. The bed was very, very comfortable.

Her hand found his and gave it a little squeeze. "Sweet dreams, Steve."

Given the situation—her, right there, touching him, in probably not very much clothing herself—it was a testament to his exhaustion that he actually fell asleep.

He woke up hours later, in a tangle of sheets and half-naked Sharon. The room had grown warm and humid and the curtains were no longer successfully holding back the bright sun. Sharon was still asleep, cheek pressed against his shoulder and one hand curled around his hip. For a few minutes he lay still, just enjoying the feel of her.

Finally, her breathing changed and she stirred a little. He felt her stiffen when she realized she had not, in fact, managed to keep her hands to herself.

He vaguely remembered lifting his arm at some point so she could tuck under it, which had just seemed natural. Now his arm was pinned under her a little, but he could rub her back. "Do me a favor, don't move that hand any lower."

"Got it," she murmured. She seemed to be debating pulling away. He rubbed little circles on the small of her back and she relaxed, resettling against him. "Sleep okay?"

"Better than I expected." He loved being able to touch her like this, trailing his fingers up over his ribs. 

She shivered a little and her hand flexed on his hip. "Me too." He thought she might have pressed a kiss to his skin. "What do you want to do today?"

Her body pressed into his side the whole way down, with their legs completely tangled. There was only one activity he could get his mind to call up. But enough of his brain was working that he was aware that it was still probably a bad idea. "Um. . . Well. . ." She smelled really good, too.

He could feel her smile. "We could go shopping. Update our wardrobes for the weather."

"That sounds great," he said with a little too much enthusiasm, causing her to dissolve into laughter.

"You're such a bad liar," she said with unhidden affection. Stretching up, she kissed his cheek and slowly eased away from him.

He watched her climb out of bed, in nothing but a tank top and underwear. "Sharon."

She looked over her shoulder, eyes uncertain. "Yeah?"

Steve ran his fingertips down her spine. "Do you still think this is a bad idea?"

She shivered and her lids fluttered briefly. "Depends on which part of me you ask."

Lust vs. logic. He didn't doubt she was attracted to him. So he sighed a little and withdrew his hand. "We should probably stop sharing beds, then."

"It feels fast," she said quietly. "Most of our interactions have been interrupted by some sort of crisis. I don't think it's a bad idea in and of itself."

"That's the part I was asking about. We don't need to have sex right now—or at any point before we get settled in Wakanda, even. I just want. . ." He shook his head, not even sure what words he was looking for. "To see where it goes, I guess."

She turned to face him, tucking her legs up. "That's what I want, too. I like everything I know about you. But it's all. . . broad strokes. I'd like a little time to learn your favorite movies and songs and what to order you for breakfast. I'd like to just be people for a little while. Steve and Sharon."

"Why don't we hang out for a little while? Casablanca's a couple hours south, I hear the beaches on the Moroccan coast are nice. Relax a little before our death march across the continent. Figure this out."

"That sounds just perfect."

They ate breakfast - technically a late lunch - in the hotel restaurant, wearing the least dirty clothes they had. Then she dragged him shopping for vacation clothes. It was, he supposed, the closest thing to a vacation he'd had since waking up. Plus, he got to watch her try on dozens of dresses and offer his opinion on them.

"This is a first for me," he told her as they walked back to the hotel in the twilight. "I've never been shopping with a woman before."

"Did I bore you?" she asked, curling her hand around his.

"No, I enjoyed the show. And picturing you naked in the dressing rooms."

The look she gave him seared him. "I tried on some bathing suits, too. But I'm keeping them as a surprise."

"We leave at first light," he intoned seriously.

Incongruously, her cheeks pinked. "Can you do all your flirting in 'Cap' voice?"

He grinned at her. "I will take that under advisement," he said, trying to sound as military as possible. Her hand tightened on his and she looked straight ahead as they went into the hotel. That was probably worth remembering.

"So, dinner here and a good night's sleep?"

"Sounds good. Then Casablanca in the morning. I'll try to do some research tonight, find somewhere to stay."

"Make it somewhere really nice. Lets do this in style."

She raised her hand in a salute. "Mission accepted, Cap."

Their evening was mellow and relaxed. Nowhere to be and no agenda to follow. Sharon wore one of her new dresses to dinner and they shared a bottle of really good Spanish wine that made her flushed and giggly.

If you'd asked him a month ago, he'd have said he'd never have a night that good again. 

In the elevator on the way back up to their room, she swayed into him and he kissed her again, unable to resist the temptation. She groaned and sank her hand into his hair, the way she had under the bridge. This time, however, the kiss went much deeper and she pressed tight against him.

"Nice without the audience," he murmured when he lifted his head.

"Very nice," she agreed. The doors slid open and she stepped away, holding his hand as they stepped out into the hallway. He dug their key out of his pocket, letting them into the suite. They'd left the balcony door cracked and the room was warm and scented with flowers.

He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. His gut told him that if he kept kissing her they were going to end up naked—what with the wine and all—so he gently let her hand go. "I'm going to go change for bed."

Disappointment flitted across her features. But she smiled and nodded. "Do you want me to sleep on the couch?"

"Absolutely not," he said firmly.

"Good. I don't want you to do it, either."

He kissed her again, because he couldn't resist, and the sound she made almost killed him. He couldn't remember ever _wanting_ a woman quite this much. 

"You know," she murmured on his mouth. "There are things we can do between sex and sleeping."

He slid his hands down her back and over her rear and groaned. "Only going to make sleeping more uncomfortable."

She kissed his jaw, flattening her palms on his chest. "Only if you do it wrong."

His heart rate picked up, and he had to clear his throat twice. "Would that not then be sex?"

"I suppose that depends on your definition." She looked up at him through her lashes. "I'm willing to be . . . flexible."

He rested his forehead on hers. "You said it was fast. You've had a lot a wine. I don't want you to regret it in the morning." And because he desperately didn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes again, he added, "But I want you so much."

“I had two glasses of wine. That's not enough to get me drunk. It made me happy, and warm, and just uninhibited enough to throw myself at you a little bit." Her fingers fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. "If you want to go in there and change into some proper 1940s pajamas and sleep on opposite sides of the bed, I'll respect that. But it's not what I want."

Now she was just messing with him. And anyway, he'd done the token protest his conscience requested. "What I want, if we're being honest, is to take that dress off with my teeth and fuck you until neither of us can see straight."

She shivered, and he heard her whisper, "Fuck," under her breath, before cupping the back of his head and yanking his mouth back to hers.

He decided to give in and follow this where it went, sinking into the kiss and backing her towards the bed. She wobbled and sat hard on the bed when the hit the edge of it. She giggled and looked up at him. "I think I might like something between that and the pajamas."

He grinned down at her. "That's quite a range."

"It is." She pressed a kiss to his stomach, just below his navel. "We can wing it."

He shuddered, his brain grinding to a halt. She pushed his shirt up so she could repeat the motion and kiss _skin_ , and he muttered a curse under his breath. She kissed him again, lower, then started to unbuckle his belt. He should really help her or touch her or. . . something. But her fingers were now sliding the buttons open on his fly and thought was just impossible.

She tugged his jeans down enough to give her room. Then pressed a kiss to his growing erection through the black cotton of his boxer briefs. He had to close his eyes a moment, but then he opened them again, mesmerized by the sight of her hands on him.

Leaning back, she held his gaze as she slid her hands up and caught the waistband of his underwear. She paused before pulling down. "Do you need to sit?"

He didn't trust himself to speak, so he just shook his head. He'd stand there all night if he had to. Smiling softly, she leaned in to kiss his thigh before sliding his briefs down his thighs. He was almost embarrassingly hard. She leaned back again, blinking rapidly. Just as he was wondering if he should be flattered or nervous, she wrapped one hand around him and stroked him, root to tip. 

It was surreal. He'd been dreaming about this woman for years now. Time had passed, but somehow she was always the face that popped into his mind. And now she was here, sliding her hands over his cock. He was just starting to relax into her strokes, hips moving with her. She looked up at him, eyes dark and he had just enough time to realize what she was about to do before she scooted closer and took him into her mouth.

She went slow, first the head, her hand and mouth moving in tandem. It was intense and he had to lock his knees to keep from toppling. Then she started to move her head, taking him deeper and deeper, using her hands less. When she got into a rhythm she hummed around him, the noise guttural and needy, as if this was turning her on as much as it did him.

He sunk his fingers into her hair, trying not to hold too tight. He could hurt her if he wasn't careful. But felt so good he couldn't process anything else. Just the way she looked and the way she felt. It got to be too much, and then everything started to unspool around him. He felt the bite of her nails in his thigh and then he was gone.

When he could think again, he loosened his hold on her hair and she leaned back, releasing him with a gasp. Tipping her head back, she licked her lips and grinned at him. "Damn."

He sucked in a few breaths. "Okay. Now I need to sit."

She laughed. "There's plenty of room." She scooted over and he half staggered, half fell onto the bed next to her. "I've definitely had fantasies like this," she murmured.

He stared at her. " _You_ have?"

For a moment she almost looked shy. "Well, if I'm being honest, you were a little bossier in my head. But if you think you haven't starred in a day dream or two . . ." She trailed off and shrugged. 

"You're usually who I think about when—" he cleared his throat deciding not to finish that sentence. "I will keep that in mind for next time," he said, and then he reached for her. She met him halfway, curling an arm around him. She was soft and supple against him. Her damned dress fell past her knee and he tugged up a fistful of skirt before he could touch the skin of her thigh. Her breathing changed when he did so.

He wanted to strip her naked and touch every inch of her. He settled for sliding hand up her thigh, and then between her legs. She was soaking wet, enough the fabric covering her sex was damp. Just that light touch made her moan. Her kiss grew distracted and when he moved her underwear aside to touch her directly she broke it off with a gasp. "God," she whispered. 

She shuddered when he traced his fingers along the seam, and then settled on her clit to find the pattern she liked. Once she started rocking her hips, once she opened her legs wider, he sunk two fingers into her and moved them in time with his thumb on her clit.

Her back arched and she gave a noise that was almost a sob. He propped on an elbow to watch her as she got lost in it. Her hands fisted in the quilt beneath her as she rocked with him. When he added a third finger her body clenched and she whimpered, "Please. Make me come. Please, please."

He dropped his voice and told her, "Consider it an order."

She whimpered again and arched off the bed, muscles tense and shaking. He fucked her with his fingers a few more times and then felt the ripples of her orgasm start to pulse around him. Her whole body seemed gripped by it, hips lifting and falling in time with the waves. She was beautiful, mesmerizing as she rode it out. He kissed her as she calmed, and it was a messy, intimate kiss.

When he removed his hand she shuddered and he purposely drew the wet fingers along her thigh so she could feel it. "Yeah," she whispered, sounding blissed out and dreamy. "Fantasies."

He turned his face into the blanket beneath him. "I'm going to lay here a minute. And then go put my 1940's PJs on."

She made only a mumbling noise in response. 

They slept in their clothes, sideways on the bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, real life kicked us in the teeth and we are still reeling a bit. Check out my tumblr in the next day or two for more information.

Sharon woke the next morning with a pounding behind her eyes, a crick in her neck and a distinct sticky spot between her thighs. The sun was valiantly trying to pierce her eyelids and the sounds of the wind and distant street noise came in the open balcony door.

For a moment she just lay there, arm slung over her closed eyes. Holy shit, she'd had sex with Steve Rogers. Depending on your definition. But mutual orgasms and fulfilled fantasies probably counted. Oh, God. Had she _told_ him she'd had fantasies about him? How much wine had she had?

The shower was running in the bathroom - he really was an early riser - and her headache wasn't going anywhere. So she mustered the energy to roll over and grab the phone to order room service. Once coffee, Advil, and breakfast meats were on their way she mustered the energy to sit up.

The bathroom door opened and Steve came out, in shorts and a linen shirt he'd bought the day before. He looked more relaxed than she'd seen him in ages, possibly ever. "Hey."

She smiled, because it was impossible not to. "Mornin'."

"How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts and I slept funny, but there's coffee and painkillers coming, so I think I'll live."

He sat on the bed next to her. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize. Last night was. . . excellent."

"In that case. . ." he said as he leaned in to kiss her. It washed away whatever lingering embarrassment or doubt she was still feeling. He really did like her. Want her. This was real, whatever it was. It was okay to be vulnerable around him. "Last night was, in fact, excellent."

She leaned against his side and he slid an arm around her. "No regrets?"

"No," he said quietly. "Not even a little bit."

"Good. Me neither." He rubbed her back and she sighed, closing her eyes. She liked how tactile he was. How often he seemed to touch her and comfort her.

"So. Checkout is at 11. I figure we can get lunch on the road, and be in Casablanca by mid afternoon."

"Ideal beach time," she teased.

There was a knock on the door, and Steve went to get their breakfast—which smelled delicious. While he set it up, she took off the wrinkled dress and bra she slept in and put on her robe. "I'd like to shower when we're done," she said, pouring sugar into her coffee. "I'm. . . sticky."

"I feel strangely compelled to apologize," he said, digging in to his eggs.

"If you hadn't already showered I'd ask you to come join me."

His eyes dropped to her mouth and he took a slightly unsteady breath. "I'm more concerned about us missing checkout."

It was extremely gratifying to get that kind of reaction by barely trying. "I'm sure our room in Casablanca will have a very nice shower, too."

The weather was gorgeous for their drive down the coast. They stopped in a little town on the way, stuffed themselves with lamb and couscous, and wandered among the old buildings. There was a little shop selling jewelry and curios and Sharon stopped to buy a bracelet. She could believe, even for a few moments, that she was on a date with her boyfriend. And in a way, maybe she was. But international incidents and spies and assassins all seemed very far away as they strolled back to the car.

Their hotel in Casablanca was right on the ocean, and she sweet-talked the desk clerk into upgrading them into a room that faced it. She may have implied they were on their honeymoon.

"I keep expecting you to get mad at me for lying," she admitted when they got to the room.

"I staged a prison break, and you think I'm going to get offended by lying?"

"I'm certain you were very honest about that prison break." She shoved the curtains open to look at the view. "Non-spies sometimes get weird about how rapidly and easily I can think up a story and sell it. Though, I suppose if you're used to Nat it wouldn't faze you."

"You're honest with me. That's enough." He opened the glass doors and went out onto the balcony. The sea air was warm and salty. "I approve," he told her.

"Good." She stood at the rail with him and looked out at the water. It really was beautiful. "The girl at the desk said the water was as warm as a bath."

He slid an arm around her waist. "I was promised a bikini."

"And I always keep my promises."

Steve kissed her temple, and turned to go back inside and get into his bathing suit. She watched him a moment, then decided a big reveal was in order and grabbed her suitcase and drug it into the bathroom.

She'd bought two suits, one she could actually swim in and one for lounging and Steve-torture. It was bright blue - the blue of his old stage uniform, almost - and very, very tiny. She had never, in her life, worn a suit that small. But she had the body for it and a man who would appreciate it so why not? It still took her a minute of quiet pep talk and fidgeting before she stepped back into the room.

"Hey," he said, turning around with a bucket of ice in the crook of one arm and two glasses in his hands. "I went and—" he stopped when he saw her and fumbled, catching both glasses in a slosh of liquid, but losing the bucket. It fell and ice spilled all over the floor.

Okay, she felt a little better now. "You got us drinks?" she offered, picking her way through the ice.

He cleared his throat. "Indeed I did. You look fantastic."

"Thanks," she said softly. "I feel a little. . . exposed."

He was staring. "I'd be perfectly happy to stay in this hotel room with you and that outfit all day. All week, even."

"I feel like if we did that the outfit wouldn't last very long."

Slowly he staked toward her. "I'm okay with that."

His voice and the look in his eyes made something in her stomach quiver and her legs turn liquid. She stood her ground, though she couldn't help but make a little sound in her throat when he reached her and slid a hand around her waist.

He bent to kiss her. "If we're going to swim, we should go now."

She sighed. "I did want to try out the water."

"Time we have," he said, stepping back after one more gentle kiss. They polished off what was left of the drinks, then headed out to the beach. The front desk rented towels and chairs, which Steve gamely lugged out to the sand.

They found themselves a spot to set up, and Steve stripped off his shirt. She felt empathy for subjecting him to the bikini. He was getting a lot of stares, from women and men. Though admittedly, some of the men might have been for her.

They got their stuff set up and she stretched out in her chair, tipping her face into the sun.

He reached out to hold her hand. "You know, this is the perfect disguise."

"Bathing suits?"

"I don't think anyone who knows anything about my public persona would for one second expect me to be laying on a beach in Morocco with a woman in a string bikini."

"You make a good point." She looked at him over the top of her sunglasses. "You can't tan, can you?"

"Not really. Tanning is skin damage."

Pity, with the dark hair and beard a good tan would help him pass as Italian or Greek. "Well, I intend to tan."

"I look forward to kissing your tan lines," he told her.

She wondered idly who had taught him to flirt like this. "You're a fan of anticipation, aren't you?"

"It passes the hours," he said with a grin.

"Doesn't it make them longer?"

"Probably. But then the end is that much better."

Big bombs were on the end of long fuses, she supposed. She stood in one fluid motion. "I'm going to try out the water. Want to join me? Or just watch?"

"I'm going to come along in case the waves knock that suit askew. You might need help putting it to rights. Or not."

Yes. He was apparently going to spend the entire day torturing her.

They spent the rest of the afternoon at the beach. She took several dips in the water and Steve seemed to especially enjoy watching her come back from them, dripping wet, suit plastered to her skin. Sharon hadn't spent a day at the beach in close to a decade and found the combination of sun, sand, swimming invigorating as it was relaxing. She'd happily spend the rest of her life a beach bum.

When the sun was getting low over the water they gathered their things and headed back to the hotel with the rest of the crowds. "I should probably shower if we're going to get dinner," she commented when they got back to the room. 

"Both of us, really," he replied, which put all sorts of images in her head.

She glanced towards the bathroom. "Interested in conserving water? Or are you still passing the hours?"

He reached to casually fiddle with the string of her bikini. "We could skip dinner."

Heat shimmered up her spine. "We are fans of room service."

He trailed just the very tips of his fingers up the curve of her waist. The touch was feather light, and heartstoppingly erotic. "So where are we tonight?" he asked.

Her breath caught in her throat. Need pumped through her veins and all she could think about were those gentle fingers on her skin. Maybe she didn't know him as well as she'd hoped. Maybe this was fast. But she knew enough to trust him, to give up everything for him. And he'd risked his freedom to come find her when he thought she needed it.

She'd never thought she'd have her very own knight in shining armor.

"You mentioned-" She cleared her throat. "Last night you mentioned something about fucking until we couldn't see straight."

His fingers drifted over her ribs, and then up, skirting the edges of her bikini top. Over her collarbone, her shoulder, slowly down her arm. "This is still at the top of my wish list." Back up the arm, over the shoulder blade, down her back. "A repeat of last night is fine, too. I just want to see you naked this time."

It was impossible to catch her breast. Her nipples were tight, clearly outlined against the fabric of her bathing suit. She was as turned on as she'd ever been and he hadn't even touched anything interesting. "I like naked," she managed. "I'd like you inside me even better."

Slowly he went up her spine. "Good," he said, his voice not much above a rumble.

No longer able to form words, she swayed into him and kissed him. She slid her arms around his neck, drawing herself close so she could feel his skin against hers. He untied the back and neck of her top, so it was trapped between them until he tugged it away. The fabric dragged across her nipples and she shuddered.

His hands flattened on her bare back and suddenly he took charge of the kiss, bending her back a little. She made a little sound in her throat, surprise and arousal. She opened her mouth to him, digging her hand in his hair.

He undid the ties on her bikini, so she was naked like he wanted. It was such a tiny bit of fabric, but without it she felt much more exposed. He cupped her ass and pulled her tight against him, fingers digging her her skin. She could feel how hard he was already. This probably wasn't going to be slow.

She gasped into his mouth and the kiss broke. He held her gaze, hands flexing on her. His hips tilted, grinding him against her and she responded in kind before leaning back and tugging down his swim trunks. He kicked them off and now they were both naked. He'd been shirtless all day, so she'd had plenty of time to stare at his entirely perfect body. But it was something else now that she could touch him, and part she wanted.

She stroked her hands across his chest and down his arms, as lightly as he'd touched her. She could all but feel him watching her, but she didn't look up. If she did, she'd be a goner and she wanted to draw this out as long as he'd let her.

When she'd explored his back and ribs and the ripple of muscles leading down his abdomen. His cock stood out between them, fully erect and arching upwards. She'd stroked and sucked him last night, but she'd almost forgotten how big he was. She curled her hand around the base and looked up at him finally.

His eyes were dark and shadowed, and surprisingly vulnerable. This was something, then. Something more than just sex. He best to kiss her before she could chase that thought any further, and they backed slowly towards the bed.

It was huge and even nicer than the one in Tangier. He lifted her a little before putting a knee on it and laying them both down. She curled her arms around him, enjoying the weight of him above her. For a few moments they just kissed, the only two people in the world.

"I want you," she whispered on his mouth.

"Good," he growled, hitching one of her legs up over his hip. She felt his cock slide against her. Anticipation clenched her inner muscles. Reaching between them, she guided him through her wet folds to the entrance of her sex. He flexed his hips and pushed slowly inside her. His groan and the way his eyes fluttered was very gratifying. He filled her, stretched her, inch by inch.

Her fingers tightened in his hair as he bottomed out. She didn't consider herself particularly maidenish or inexperienced, but he was definitely the biggest guy she'd been with. It felt incredible, intimate and explicit. Her muscles clenched on him with the pleasure of it.

"Please," she whispered, nuzzling at his cheek, not even sure was she was asking for.

"I know," he breathed. "I know." He pulled nearly all the way out, then thrust back in with a little most force. The next time a little faster, and little deeper. He pulled her leg up higher.

"Fuck, oh fuck." She gripped him tightly as he slowly ramped up his thrusts. She thought, perhaps, he was testing her, gauging how deep and hard he could go. It felt incredible, he stroked every inch of her, sending sparks of sensation everything he filled her. But she wanted more. She had a feeling she'd never get enough. Bending the leg he wasn't holding, she braced herself, opening wider for him. "Fuck me," she begged. "Please."

He bent his head, resting his forehead against hers as their bodies moved together. "Come for me," he told her, in that voice of his. "Just like last night." He braced one hand behind her shoulder and brought the other one down to touch her. 

Her hips bucked and her head fell back. His fingers moved on her clit in the perfect pattern, the sensation blending with the drive of his cock. It was rough and intense and consuming. She whispered his name, then screamed it as her climax poured through her. Muscles clenched, sex pulsing around him as waves of hot, aching pleasure drowned her.

He shuddered and she felt him come right behind her, pouring into her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as they rode it down together. He rocked against her a few more times before collapsing onto her, boneless and heavy. She buried her face in the crook of his next and relaxed.

He tasted like the sea water that had dried on his skin over the course of the day. He made a warm, contented noise and hugged her tighter. Their heartbeats slowed and their skin cooled. Somewhere along the way the sun had set and when they slowly started to untangle the room was streaked with pink and orange twilight.

"That was worth the wait," she told him softly.

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "It was." He sat up and held out his hand. "Wanna come wash off the salt and sand?"

She stretched, then took his hand. "Absolutely."

In the shower he lifted her up against the tile wall, but they managed to get mostly clean. They staggered out onto the bed and ordered room service in their robes. His hands went wandering while they waited, followed swiftly by his mouth. She had to shout for the food to be left outside the door.

The man had stamina, she had to give him that.

They ate cold room service in bed, naked. She'd attempted to get her robe back on, but he'd asked very nicely to keep it off.

"You're right," she said, licking sauce off her thumb. "I don't think I can see straight."

He laughed out loud. "Then my efforts have been worth it."

"Is this standard for you? 'Cause I may been to up my protein intake or something."

He shrugged. "Women I've been with. . . it's always been a one-night stand. For release, for connection. To not feel alone for a little bit. In certain setting women just kind of. . .throw themselves at me. I used to say no less."

Sharon tried to picture picking up Captain America in a bar. It just didn't compute. "Lucky girls."

He lifted a shoulder, and said quietly, "It was empty."

She reached over and touched his cheek. "Not this time."

He leaned across the food to kiss her. "Not this time."

She dug her hand into his hair and he pushed the food tray out of the way with a clatter of dishes.

They ended up needing a second shower.


	8. Chapter 8

In the morning Steve woke to them naked and tangled around each other. This time is wasn't awkward at all. It was also full daylight—they'd really worn themselves out. Sharon was sound asleep, not even stirring when he shifted his arm out from under her. For a moment, he watched her sleep, peaceful and relaxed. He ran a knuckle down her arm and she shivered and smiled, eyes still closed. He bent his head to kiss her shoulder. "Good morning."

She hummed in pleasure and rolled towards him. "Is it still morning?"

"I absolutely do not care." That was probably a first for him.

Smiling, she reached up and drew him down for a kiss. "Me neither."

"So. . . food or more sex?"

This was clearly a difficult decision for her. "Food that can be used for sex?" she suggested, wiggling against him.

He kissed her harder this time. "That sounds very entertaining." She responded eagerly, opening up to him. She'd been like that all night, responsive and eager. He'd probably bordered on insatiable, at least by round four or five. But she'd met him every step of the way, as enthusiastic as the first time.

They made a good team.

His stomach rumbled audibly. Sharon leaned back, laughing. "So breakfast, then?"

He sighed. "Apparently." He kissed her nose and sat up. "No, it's good. Give us some time to talk."

"Are we going to talk about sex?" she asked brightly. 

He chuckled. "No. You said you wanted us to know each other better. Clearly our libidos have gotten ahead of us, but I'd like to still fulfill that promise."

"I suppose we are overdue for some first date small talk." She stretched and rolled to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to go rinse off a little. You want to order half the room service menu?"

"No, I want us to get dressed and leave the room so we don't abandon our meal to fool around some more."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Oh, you _are_ serious about it."

She looked delicious. "Yes," he said firmly.

"Cap voice is cheating," she told him, her own voice husky. But she stood and started for the bathroom. "Give me five minutes."

"I will attempt to put some clothing on," he replied.

"That would help," she called as she closed the door. The water went on and he heaved himself out of bed, rummaging through their bags for some of his new clothes.

He was perfectly presentable and wondering if he should trim the beard when she came back out, freshly showered, in a long white sundress. "God you are gorgeous," he told her. Not that he hadn't always thought she was.

Swinging her hips a little, she crossed the room and wound her arms around his neck. "I could say the same."

"Mmm. We are leaving this room right now."

"Yes, sir. Captain, sir."

They walked down to the hotel restaurant and got lunch—it was that late. "We should consider pacing ourselves," he commented halfway through the meal. She'd sat down slowly, like she was sore, but he expected her pride wouldn't let her admit that.

"So only four times tonight?" she asked, sipping her drink. "I think I can handle that."

He laughed. "We can work with that."

She smiled fondly and put her glass down. "So. Awkward first date small talk. I'm guessing family and what you do for a living are touchy subjects. How about hobbies?"

"Art," he said. "I draw. Or, well, I did." It had been a while since he'd been in the mood, and things he did draw were often dark.

"I take pictures," she offered. "Don't have a good camera now, but I used to take pictures everywhere I went. All my missions."

"We should get you a camera," he said immediately.

The suggestion seemed to surprise her and for a moment he thought she was going to protest. Then her shoulders relaxed and she nodded. "We should."

"Maybe I'll get a sketch pad." It was appealing as soon as he said it. "And some actual colored pencils."

"Sounds like we have some plans for the day outside of the bed room." She took another bite of her lunch. "Create art again."

It wasn't hard to find a camera store in Casablanca, and then an art store to get his supplies. They wandered the city a bit so she could take some pictures of the architecture and landmarks. Then they found a nice, hidden cove on the beach. He plunked down with his sketch pad and started to draw. It was like using a muscle he'd long neglected. There was a little bit of awkwardness, but soon he found his rhythm.

Sharon hung around, taking pictures of everything. She even crouched down in the tide pool and tried to get close ups of the fish swimming in the water.

The scenery, the ocean, the clouds, all of it would probably make interesting subject matters. Instead he started to draw her, and suddenly it felt as natural as breathing.

By the time the sun was dipping low and they were both getting hungry, he had half a dozen pages full of half done sketches of her face and profile and she was muttering about needing a bigger memory card.

They hiked up the beach and ate at some little local place where no one spoke English. He was surprised but also not surprised Sharon spoke Arabic. He wasn't entirely sure what he ate, but it was rich and warm and a little spicy. The perfect end to a fantastic day.

They lingered over coffee, then walked back to the hotel hand in hand while the city's night life came awake around them. "We could go out dancing," he offered.

Her brows went up near her hairline and she looked up at him. "Really?"

"I mean I don't actually _know_ how to dance. But it seems like the sort of activity one would do right now."

She glanced around at the crowds and bright lights. They passed a bar blaring very loud, very modern music than made him wince a little.

Sharon looked back up at him. "How about we go back to our room and dance in peace and quiet?"

He leaned over to kiss her. "That's probably more fun."

She sighed and swayed into him. "Lots."

They walked the last few blocks a little quicker than normal. He became very aware of the places she was touching him, the heat of her skin, and the scent of whatever lotion or soap she used.

He caged her against the wall in the elevator. "So four? That's our limit for tonight?"

She flattened her palms on his chest. "I'm open to negotiations."

He nuzzled her neck. "I know you were sore."

"Me? Not me." She leaned into him. "I could go all night."

Steve reached to tug her dress higher. "You're a better liar than me."

"I'm an excellent liar." She kissed his jaw. "But I don't lie to you."

He closed his eyes. Her touch was addictive. "I don't want to hurt you."

She nipped at him. "What if I'm into that?" He groaned in response, and then the elevator door finally opened. He picked her up, carrying her out of it. People would probably think they were on their honeymoon.

They reached their door and he waited with remarkable patience as she got it unlocked. He stepped inside, slammed the door behind them and pressed her up against it, kissing her roughly. Sharon moaned into his mouth, burying her hands in his hair and locking her legs around his waist.

He slid his hands up the underside of her thighs, all the way up until he reached the lacy edge of her underwear. "Can I rip these?" he asked.

"Yes," she said softly. "Anything you like. I want to be your fantasy tonight."

The fabric tore in his hands when he pulled on it. "You already are." She shuddered and he let it fall, cupping her ass in his hands. "I want you right here, against this door."

She moaned and kissed him in response, snaking a hand between them to unbutton his shorts. He was going to take that has an enthusiastic yes, particularly once she had her hand through his fly. She stroked him, hand tight around him. It was completely distracting, making him fumble as he tried to hold her up with one hand and shove the shorts down with the other. She helped, and he hitched her up, and then he was inside her. "Fuck," he whispered, resting his forehead on the door.

Her breathing was ragged and fast. Hefting her higher, she hooked her legs around him, supporting herself, and then he began to move. They moaned in virtual unison and he felt her shudder as he stroked something good.

He pushed the dress higher, wiggling one hand under it so he could cup her breast—this outfit's visible lack of a bra had teased him all day. It prompted another sound of pleasure from her and he smiled.

The door rattled and creaked behind her. Anyone walking by would almost certainly be able to tell what was going on. He found that thought only made him thrust harder. Her moans and sounds became more desperate and her legs began to tighten on him.

Cupping the back of his head, she whispered, "We should try it on the balcony next time," before her body began to clench and spasm around him.

Just picturing that for a second, and the feel of her coming, was more than he could take. He closed his eyes and let go and the whole room spun. His legs wobbled and he sank down to his knees, a still shaking Sharon on his lap. They slumped together, breathing hard. "You are amazing," he told her.

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Back at you."

*

After Casablanca they drove to Marrakech, where Sharon had gotten them a suite in a riad, a very fancy sort of bed-and-breakfast common in the region. It was an centuries-old building, full of gorgeous architecture. 

They wandered the city. She took photos and Steve drew. The riad had a turkish bath, so they went down and steamed themselves, then Sharon got a massage and a salt scrub. Life on the run sure was nice.

"I've been thinking," she told Steve in their room later. She was still naked and a little flushed and he'd dug his sketchpad out after asking her permission. She'd never expected to find someone drawing her sexy, but life was full of surprises.

"Is this a naked thought?" he asked, glancing up.

"No," she laughed. "But it might be inspired in the interest of more nudity."

"Do tell."

"Turning off the water and driving east is going to be a very different experience. There's some conflicts going on, lots of militant and rebellion. I can't gauge what the border crossings will be like. Could be they're getting ignored, could be we get frisked for being white. Between us we could probably get out of just about any situation, but it's not exactly plan A, you know?"

"We could go under that whole region. Double the drive but it would be safer."

"It's an option." She stretched a little and tucked her hands under her head. "I'm going to keep an eye out for others."

"Such as?"

"Flying would be a lot faster. And safer."

"We might be able to get on a commercial flight from here, you know."

She had been thinking of stealing or scamming their way onto a private plane. But he had a good point. There was a lot of wealthy white tourists here. They were no longer in Europe, where Captain America's face had been on TV every night for two weeks. And no one would expect him down here. It would be stressful, but they could do it. "You think you're up for that?"

"I don't get airsick, so I think I'll manage."

"Not what I meant, but good attitude."

"No, I know." He tapped his pencil on his pad. "Can we do this for a little longer, first?"

"This specific thing? Or bumming around the African Coast?"

"Any of the above. We could go to another beach resort. I saw a brochure about staying in a Bedouin tent camp in the desert." 

It was good to know he was susceptible to leaving brochures around. Boded well for future gift-giving occasions. "Yes, we can keep doing this. And the tents sound like fun. And a very. . . you kind of vacation."

"Roughing it in the great wild?"

"Yeah. You strike me as a camper."

"I slept outside enough during the war, honestly."

Admittedly, she hadn't thought about that. He looked back down at his picture, pencil moving lightly. "I guess you're just enjoying having no agenda."

"I thought it would make me crazy," he said. "To be honest. No duty, no orders. But it's very peaceful."

"No where to be. No one expecting you." She frowned. "Though. . . what is Bucky doing with himself while you're gone?”

She could literally see Steve deflate, the pad and pen drifting down to his lap, and his shoulders slumping. "He asked T'Challa to put him back in cryo."

Sharon sat up. "He did? Why?"

"Because he felt he was a danger to everyone. Because of the Hydra triggers."

"Oh, Steve." All that he went through to get his friend back, only to lose him again. She crawled to the end of the bed and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry."

"He's safe," he murmured into her hair. "He's alive."

"There has to be a way to fix it." She rubbed his back. "If it was done to him, there must be a way to undo it."

"Wakandan scientists are trying to figure it out. Unfortunately, pretty much anyone who knows anything about this is dead."

She rocked him a little. "There must be someone. When we get back I'll start going through the SHIELD dump. If Zemo could find a way to trigger him, I'll find a way to fix it."

"You really think you could do that?" He sounded so hopeful she ached a little for him.

"I do. Analyzing data is what I'm good at, as you well know. If the information is in there, I'll find it."

He kissed her shoulder. "Thank you."

She leaned her head against his. "Anything I can do, I will."

To lighten the mood, she supposed, he asked, "Even sleep in a tent?"

Smiling, she kissed his temple. "Better be a really nice tent."

As it turned out, it _was_ a really nice tent. Beautiful fabric lined the inside, which had a comfortable low bed with lots of pillows, and the floor was covered in Persian rugs.

"If all camping was like this I would have liked my family vacations a lot more," Sharon said, smoothing her hands over the plush pillows.

"I was not interested in sleeping on the ground."

It was said with such derision she had to smile. "Probably makes for awkward sex."

"Whereas I bet this bed is great for it."

"We'd have to be quiet," she teased, sauntering over to him. "No insulation."

He laughed. "I am not the one with the volume problem."

"But who's responsible for causing those noises?"

He put his arms around her. "If I don't do those things it would be some pretty boring sex."

"You make a valid point." She kissed him and they swayed together a moment. "Maybe we should find a gag," she murmured when he lifted his mouth.

He leaned back and both eyebrows went up. She could tell he wasn't scandalized as much as turned on. It had been a good guess. She grinned. "Have I piqued your interest?"

"Sounds like a challenge." His voice rumbled a little.

A shiver went down her spine. "Think you're up to it, soldier?"

"Well, what else are we going to do in this tent after dark?"

"Oh, I don't know. War stories? Friendly game of gin?"

"The rules of gin must have really changed in the last 70 years." She giggled and drew him down for another kiss. He rocked her and they kissed for a bit, until he finally lifted his head. "As soon as the sun goes down."

"Yes, dear. For now, you want to find some lunch?"

They ate lunch in a nicely decorated tent, and lounged around with the other guests during the heat of the afternoon. They went for a sunset camel ride—which was not nearly as ridiculous as Sharon had expected, given it involved camels. The sunset over the desert was breathtaking.

Dinner was after dark, by campfire.

Sharon leaned on Steve's shoulder, sipping something warm and spiced. "Do they have hamburgers in Wakanda?"

"Probably not. But they do have beef, so we could make you one. Their food is pretty delicious. They use a lot of butter."

"Butter is good. I've just been having a craving. But making my own will mean it's done to my specifications, so that's a win."

"It's an adjustment," he said. "Living somewhere different. But it could be so much worse, so. . ." he shrugged.

"I know. It sounds like a really nice place. I'm glad you found it."

"It'll be better with you in it."

She was glad it was too dark for him to see her blush. She hugged his arm closer and sighed. "Thanks for finding me."

"You know, I meant to say this in London, but you were so nice to me I didn't want to bring it up. But I'm sorry I was a jerk to you. You were right, you were just doing your job."

Tension she hadn't known she was holding unraveled, loosening her shoulders. She pressed a little kiss to his shoulder. "Thank you. I wish I hadn't had to lie to you. I would have liked to meet you differently."

"It took me entirely too long to realize maybe that was why you turned me down, and that I hadn't been misreading this. . .spark."

That was a very good word for it. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"In London. If Sam hadn't interrupted and that whole Vienna things hadn't. . . If I'd asked you up to my room would you have come?"

He grinned. "I was kind of hoping you would."

She leaned in to kiss him. "Oh good. Definitely not misreading the spark."

His eyes searched her face in the dim light. "I think it was good we were interrupted, though."

"Yeah. I think having a little time was good. Much as I liked our first date."

"I guess that was, wasn't it? And then our second date involved you confiscating my shield and kicking Bucky in the head."

"And the third was dyeing your hair and fleeing a country. We know how to have fun."

"No, that was the fourth. The third was brief, did involve theft and treason, and had an audience. . . but you kissed me, so I'm counting it."

"If I remember correctly, _you_ kissed _me_."

"Yeah, but you grabbed the back of my neck and made it into something."

"Well, I didn't know if that was going to be the only time. Had to make it memorable."

He lifted their linked hands and kissed the back of hers. "Ready to turn in?"

"I have been looking forward to it all day." 

Steve stood, pulling her up with him, and they walked back to the tent hand in hand.


	9. Chapter 9

They stayed in the desert for a few more days, thoroughly enjoying the tent despite its thin walls. They took another camel ride, this time with Sharon snapping pictures the whole way. She was amassing quite the collection of memory cards in her luggage. Steve looked forward to seeing them up on their walls in Wakanda someday.

When they left they drove south again, ending up at a very nice resort in the middle of nowhere, with a private beach on one side and the desert on the other. Steve had no idea how Sharon found these places, but she was constantly outdoing herself. They spent a few days sunning themselves by the beach and going on safaris, adding once again to her photo collection. She was developing quite the sun tan lines, which he adored tracing when they were in bed. Her hair was also starting to show light roots, as was his beard. It was a reminder that as much fun as this all was, they were still in danger.

Their third night there he was waiting for her at the restaurant. She'd gone for an afternoon at the spa and had promised to meet him, but was now almost ten minutes late. Late enough for him to be growing concerned. He was about to get up and look for her when she appeared in the doorway, looking refreshed, in a white dress that managed to cover her from collarbone to ankle and still leave nothing to the imagination.

She made her way over to the table and bent to kiss him before sliding into her seat. "Are you ready to find me really hot?"

"I always find you really hot."

"Good to know. I don't know what's above hot, but this might tip me over." She grinned. "I got us a non-commercial flight to Kenya."

He blinked. "Did you steal a plane?"

She laughed brightly. "No, I'm a little more Romanov than Barton."

"If you seduced someone and then killed them for their plane, I'm going to be disappointed."

The look she gave him was very Natasha in that moment. "No." The waiter came by with the bottle of wine Steve had ordered and Sharon waited until he'd poured them each a glass and disappeared before continuing, "I was getting a pedicure and in the next chair over was a very wealthy British guy getting his nails buffed. He heard my accent and made a joke about being metro and I said something about my husband not being caught dead getting his nails done, hoping to derail any flirting he wanted to start. Then he said _his_ husband was getting a massage and we started chatting. Turns out they're leaving in two days to go on safari in Kenya, taking his private jet. I told him a sob story about how you'd really wanted to go to Kenya, but our travel agent had screwed up and by the time we figured it out it was too late to rebook. So he offered to get us there if I thought I could figure it out from there. And, of course, I said yes."

She looked very proud. And delicious. "Okay, yeah," Steve said. "I'm pretty turned on right now."

"As well you should." She sipped her wine. "I told them we'd have lunch with them tomorrow so that everyone knew no one was a axe murderer. But if all goes well we'll leave day after. We could be in Wakanda by Friday."

"What if they recognize me?"

"We pass it off the way we did in Lyon. They're British, not American, which will help. And I've already set up the bones of a cover. People see what they want to see, and they aren't going to be looking for you."

"I suppose it's time we got back to reality, isn't it?"

Her expression softened, smile fading a little. "I'm sorry. Do you want to play hooky longer?"

"No. I'm tired of the low-level worry about our safety. Wakanda has nice resorts and beautiful safaris."

Relief loosened her shoulders and brought her smile back. "I'm looking forward to settling. Printing out my pictures and buying sheets and pillows. Bath products."

"Everything smells nice in Wakanda."

Sharon reached across the table and touched his hand. "I'd like to spend time with you when we both feel at home. No agenda, no looking over our shoulders. Normal. Or at least figuring out what normal means now."

He moved his hand, lacing their fingers. "That sounds like fun."

She rubbed her thumb along his. "And I can start trying to find help for Bucky."

Steve wasn't sure how likely it was there would be someone out there, but it was worth a try. Particularly after all he'd gone through to keep him safe. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She leaned across the table to kiss him lightly. "Now, I should probably get you up to speed on the cover I started us."

"Do I have to fake an accent? I'm really lousy at that."

"No, we're American. I just fudged the names and occupations. And we're on our honeymoon, so we'll need to figure out some relationship details. How'd you meet, how'd he propose? That sort of thing."

"We were neighbors. I offered you my washing machine in exchange for coffee. The rest is history."

She grinned widely. "I did tell him my name was Kate."

"See? Couple years later we took a weekend trip to New York. I took you ice skating in Rockefeller Center, and proposed there. How do we explain the lack of rings?"

"Getting engraved and sized. It's pretty common. And I don't wear my engagement ring to travel because I thought my fingers would swell in the heat. Is that really how you'd propose?"

"Too old-fashioned? Too corny?"  
 "No." She waved a hand, reaching for her wine glass. "No, no, no. That's very romantic and sweet. No wonder I said yes."

"I probably fell while trying to propose on ice skates."

"You absolutely did," she agreed, tone fond. "Probably dragged me down with you."

"We kissed laying on the ice, and tourists took pictures." 

She was blushing a little and smiling. "It's a good story."

The waiter came with their salads, and Steve shook out his napkin to put it in his lap. "Did you insist on having a giant wedding?"

"Oh, I think my mother wanted one, but after threatening to elope we settled for something elegant with our close friends. Maybe at a museum or art gallery."

"That sounds perfect," he said sincerely, because it kind of did. It was the sort of moment that belonged to a life now lost to him, but it was still a nice thing to imagine.

She paused in her eating and gave him a knowing, sympathetic look. "It does," she agreed quietly.

He rubbed his ankle against hers. "What else does our backstory need?"

Tilting her head, she seemed to think it over. "I think that's the basics. If they ask us anything we haven't covered we can probably answer on the fly. You're pretty good at this."

"I have been told I'm a terrible liar."

"You don't have much of a poker face," she conceded. "But you seem to enjoy telling our fictional story."

"Maybe in a parallel universe it was true."  
 "They say there are infinite universes out there. Each one caused my the smallest change, the simplest decision. In one of them we're happily married with a bunch of kids. Another, we never met." She lifted her glass at him. "I think we're doing all right?"

"Right now?" He clinked his glass against hers. "Yeah, we are."

*

Their room practically fell onto the beach, so they woke up to the sounds of the ocean and could just walk right out for a swim. She and Steve spent the morning in and out of the ocean before coming back to the room to get ready for lunch.

"Did I ever tell you Wakandan beaches are topless?" he called while she was in the bathroom putting on a little makeup.

"You mean I cultivated these tan lines for nothing?"

"Well, _I_ enjoy them."

She stepped out of the bathroom. "Will you like topless better?"

He looked her up and down. "This is pretty good, too." She looked down at the snug, plum colored dress she was wearing. It was somewhere in between a cocktail dress and a sundress and there was a very finite amount of events it was appropriate for. But if he going to look at her like that she was going to go buy a dozen more.

She bent and slid her feet into sandals, then took his arm. "Ready to be charming?"

"I'm always charming," he replied.

"Well I certainly think so," she said as they headed down the hall. "But I'm biased."

As they made their way to the restaurant, he said, "I'm strangely nervous about this."

"You'll do fine. Stick with the stories we were talking about and if you get in trouble let me take over."

The maitre'd brought them straight back. Oliver was waiting at a table, with a red-haired man she assumed was his husband. She waved and he stood to greet them. He took her hands when she reached him and kissed both cheeks. "You look as ravishing in a gown as you do a spa robe."

She grinned. "Thank you. You look very refreshed." Freeing a hand, she gestured back to Steve. "This is my husband, Steve."

"Oliver Bancroft," he said, shaking Steve's hand. "This is Charlie."

Sharon shook Charlie's hand, then Steve did and they all sat. "I ordered a bottle of wine," Oliver said. "I hope that's all right."

"Wine sounds great," Steve said.

Oliver poured them each a glass and Charlie looked at Sharon. "Ollie says you're a nurse?"

"I am," she said with a smile. "ER right now, but I'm thinking I'd like to change to something with more regular hours. Now that I have someone to go home to."

"Just as long as it's not the infectious disease ward again," Steve said.

She grinned at him. "That worked out all right in the end."

"You two are adorable," Oliver said. 

"Thank you," they said in unison, making the other couple laugh.

"His friends tease him," Sharon said. 

Charlie pulled a phone out of his pocket at poked at the screen. Oliver made a noise of consternation. "Are you working?"

"Sorry, sorry. Just keeping a weather eye on. It was buzzing, though only to tell me that rumor turned out to be true but completely useless. Oh, look, the Americans are making news out of it anyway."

Oliver sighed. "Sorry," he said to Steve and Sharon. "We're going on safari partly because if I don't take him out of cell range, we never get any peace."

"Which is why I was on a mountain in Nepal when aliens fell out of the sky. My editor left me seventeen messages. Seventeen."

"You're a journalist?" Steve asked, given Sharon a side-eye. In the spa, Oliver hadn't mentioned what his husband did.

Charlie chuckled and shoved his phone back in his pocket. "I am. One of the old dinosaurs. People tell me I should move digital, get a blog. But I'm old school. If my words don't smell of ink and newsprint how do I know their real."

"He's attached to that phone, though," Oliver griped. "Can't let a text message go unread."

"I'm like that," Sharon said with a laugh. "It's probably an addiction."

"There was a supposedly reliable tip on one of the missing Avengers," Charlie said. Sharon could see Steve go very still, and she put her hand on his knee under the table to remind him not to react. "Editor thought it plausible, I thought it was bullshit. Fugitive superhero living on a farm in the American heartland."

She laughed again. "Seriously? An Avenger growing corn?" Steve was looking at something under the table, she assumed his phone. She supposed there were more Captain Obvious things he could do. It was a cheap burner, so who knew what information he could actually get from it.

"They raided some random farm, apparently. Nothing suspicious, _at all_. Neighbors said the family is camping. Your lovely countrymen made news out of it anyway. Poor people are going to come home from their vacation to a trashed house."

"I suppose it's better than being there when it happened. Would have been terrifying, especially if they had kids." She reached for her wine and gave Steve's leg a squeeze. "Glad I'm over here, I'm sure the 24 hour news channels are having a field day."

"Everyone loves a fall from grace," Charlie muttered.

"Oh, don't be dreary, Charlie," Oliver said. "I'm sure they don't want to talk about that business. Kate was probably right in the middle of her wedding planning when that was all happening."

"Debating lilies and tulips with my mother," Sharon confirmed. "World crises were a welcome distraction."

"It isn't all dreary," Charlie said. "I think it's a love story."

Steve's leg muscles tightened under her hand and she squeezed again. Brow furrowed she asked, "A love story? How so?"

"Charlie thinks Rogers and Barnes were/are lovers."

Steve coughed and took a drink of water.

Sharon made a point of patting and rubbing his back. "I've heard that theory before somewhere. Didn't someone write about it?"

Charlie nodded. "It was part of a book on hidden gays through history. Had all the usual suspects: Rock Hudson, Randolph Scott and Cary Grant. The lesbians that served in the military during WWII. But the final chapter was more speculation and most of it was about Rogers and Barnes. The evidence is compelling."

"It came out nine months after Rogers was found," Oliver protested. "It was a cash grab."

"A very well researched cash grab." Charlie looked back at Sharon and Steve. "I don't have a lot of platonic friends I'd stage a prison break for, do you?"

She could see Steve smile. Unless the Avengers had one hell of an orgy going on, he had literally done just that. "War changes the rules of a lot of things," he said, perhaps alluding to that. "I was in the service. You'd be amazed what you do for your team." He inclined his head. "But. . . whatever that relationship is, 'platonic friendship' is probably an underestimation."

"See?" Charlie said to Oliver, pointing his hand toward Steve. "Straight bloke, he agrees with me."

Oliver shook his head. "What about Carter? Our esteemed countrywoman? You can't tell me there wasn't something there. He showed up at her funeral in the middle of that Accords mess."

Sharon swore it was temporary madness - or possibly the ghost of Aunt Peggy having a laugh - that made her say, "Threesomes are a thing."

Charlie beamed. "I like this girl. I want to hear more about her ideas."

Steve was blushing. "That's the first I've heard about that."

"I'll show you some websites later," Sharon teased, making the other men laugh.

"Sounds like the makings of a fun honeymoon," Charlie said.

She grinned and Steve blushed darker. Their meals came and the conversation wandered to other, less panic inducing topics. They lingered over coffee and desserts until it was almost dinner time.

Needless to say, by the time they parted, their ride to Kenya was secure.

Steve was texting on his phone while she got ready for bed. She was surprised how fast he typed give he'd completely skipped the whole dumb-phone era. "I told Sam we'll be there in a couple of days."

"Doesn't seem real," she admitted. She finished brushing her hair and set the brush down, heading around the foot of the bed to her side. "It's been a hell of a month."

He closed his phone and put it on the nightstand. "I hope the Bartons are all right."

"Sounded like they got out in time." Sliding into bed, she rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand to look at him. "Barton's smart and paranoid as hell. He'll keep ahead of them."

He sighed. "I sure did wreck a lot of lives. S'pose I can blame most of that on Zemo."

"That was the plan. If it helps, I'm sure Ross is enjoying making his life very miserable."

He shook his head. "No. I feel a strange kind of. . .I guess empathy. I've lost everything. Just, poof, everything you knew is gone and everyone you loved is dead and you have nothing."

She reached out and stroked her fingers through his hair. "I suppose you didn't really have anyone to lash out at, did you? No one to blame."

He looked up at her. "Nobody but myself."

Just when she thought his story and history couldn't break her heart anymore. At a loss, she leaned in and kissed him. "I'm sorry, Steve," she said softly.

He lifted a hand up and sifted it into her hair. "Future didn't turn out too bad in the end."

The words warmed her, and she smiled. "I'm glad to hear that." Hoping to continue the good mood, she cuddled a little closer. "So is there anything you want to tell me about you and Bucky?"

Steve laughed. "God. No, we are not and have not been lovers. We're just. . . brothers. He's my family. Friendship is not an adequate word."

"I understand. I think it's very sweet. I'm glad you had someone like that in your life." She stroked a hand down his neck and shoulder. "I think people who immediately jump to lovers don't understand what it's like to be alone. To have only one person you really trust. Like you said, it goes beyond friendship. I saw it with partners at SHIELD all the time."

"I'd have put money on Clint and Nat being lovers. So I can't fault people for thinking the same of Bucky and I."

"It was a pretty common rumor in SHIELD, too." She resettled, tucking her arm under her head. "I never had a regular partner. But I think you and I make a pretty good team."

"I think you make me happier than I've been in longer than I can remember."

It was a silly thing to make tears well up. "I hope I do for a very long time."

He reached up to pull her in for a kiss, and murmured, "So do I," against her mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have one more chapter and an epilogue after this, so I imagine this will wrap up by the end of the month.

They landed in Kenya early the next afternoon. Charles and Oliver had fed them on the plane and the trip had been as entertaining as lunch. Mercifully, they avoided all talk of superheroes and Captain America. They said their goodbyes at the airstrip and Steve and Sharon caught a cab into the city while Charles and Oliver took a car to meet their safari group. 

Steve wondered if halfway through the trip Charles was going to suddenly realize exactly who he'd given a ride to, but it probably didn't matter. They'd be another story for them to tell. That nice couple they'd met in Africa that time. There were worse legacies to have.

They checked into a hotel, and Steve called Sam. "We're in Nairobi."

"I am officially impressed. Your girl has skills."

She was definitely his girl. "Thanks."

"I told Catman you were getting close. He's sending a plane to get you guys over the border. You'll get a text when it's in."

"That was. . . straightforward."

"Well, he's just happy you're not coming in with jets on your tail like the last guy."

"Last guy?"

"Hey, I gotta go. See you when you get here." 

Steve frowned at the phone for a moment after Sam hung up.

"Problem?" Sharon asked, seeing his face as she came out of the bathroom.

"Sam said T'Challa is sending a plane to get us. Also, I suspect if we turn on the news we'll see something a mysterious person stealing a high speed jet somewhere in North America, and getting chased across at least one continent by somebody's air force, before landing in Wakanda."

Her brow furrowed a moment. "Wait. You think the Bartons went to Wakanda?"

"We extended the offer. I can see why he might have had a change of heart."

"Huh." She stepped close and tucked her arms around his wait. "It'll be nice to have another friendly face."

He cleared his throat. "Something I've been thinking about..."

She tilted her head back to look at him. "Yes?"

"When we get there, are we going to. . . I mean, they will probably give us the option of separate quarters or. . " He had no idea why he was so awkward about this. Maybe because he really cared about the reply.

Sharon leaned back farther, studying his face. He couldn't read her expression at all. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I. . . I know you'll need your own space. We both will. I just like sleeping next to you."

"I like sleeping next to you, too." She looked down, then back at his face. "I hadn't thought about it, but yes, I'd rather share a bedroom. Preferably one connected to a couple of sitting rooms or something, so we can have that space. But I'd miss you, if we were separate."

He leaned in to kiss her. "I'll see if I can get us one with a nice view."

"And a big bed."

Steve laughed. "Got it."

They were in the middle of dinner when the text arrived. _Giving you coordinates where I'm putting down the jet. Middle of nowhere in the savannah. Get a compass._ Before Steve could type the reply, another text came. _You probably have one. I hope it doesn't still have your old girlfriend's picture in it. Sam told me you shacked up with 13._

That made Steve laugh. "Clint says hello," he told Sharon. 

She smiled. "He came to get us?"

"Apparently. We have to meet him out in the bush."

"One last hike." With a gesture to her plate, she added, "I guess we should hurry up."

He frowned at his phone, which now provided coordinates. "No, this is really out there. We're going to need to get a car."

Leaning across the table, she peered at his phone upside down. "Shit. Well, on the bright side, there's a lot of old Jeeps. Easy to steal."

"See? I knew eventually we'd have to steal something."

"A fitting end to our adventure. Sort of began with a theft."

He scarfed down his food and waved for the check. "I think there's plenty more adventure for us."

"You do kind of draw trouble to you. I'm sure Sam and Clint won't help."

Steve rifled through the various currencies in his wallet—none of them Kenyan—and left a pile of US dollars and Euros on the table, hoping a big enough tip would cover the exchange rate. "We should get going."

"We're going to grab our luggage, right?" she asked, standing. "I like some of the dresses I've picked up."

"I would be heartbroken if we did not get your dresses."

They swung by the hotel and Sharon packed up while Steve went out to get them transport. When he picked her up, she lamented not getting to see him hotwire it. "You know how hot I find it when you break the law," she teased as they headed out of town.

"Feeling's mutual, honey." It was more than an hour's drive out of the city, and the jet was waiting for them when they finally found the spot.

Clint appeared on the top of the gangplank as they parked and grabbed their bags. "Took you long enough."

"There aren't exactly landmarks."

"Told you to find a compass." He held his hand out to shake when Steve reached him. "Lumberjack look suits you."

"Thanks. I saw the news about your farm. Everybody okay?"

"Yeah, we bugged out a couple days ahead of them. No one knows how to surveil subtly anymore." He nodded at Sharon. "Hello, Agent 13."

"Hawkeye," she replied with a smile. "It's been a long time."

"I never forget a pretty face," he replied. It would sound like flirting from anyone else, but he managed to make it sound like a routine observation.

"So on a scale of one to ten," Steve asked. "How much does your wife want to kill me?"

"Sam and Wanda have orders to hide all the sharp objects before we land," he replied with complete seriousness.

"I can survive a surprising number of stab wounds," he replied, then sighed. "I'm really am sorry."

Clint waved a hand and turned to head back towards the cockpit. Steve and Sharon followed. "I didn't do it for you," he said. "And I didn't do it blind."

"I know. But I feel some responsibility for landing you in jail and then turning you into a fugitive."

"Risk I took when I left. And despite the initial door slamming, I did it with Laura's blessing." He sighed and shook his head. "I assumed whatever happened to me, _they_ would be safe. Nobody knew about them but the team, and for some crazy reason I trusted the rest of them not to put a civilian woman and three children in danger."

Steve stopped in his tracks as did Sharon. "Wait. One of the team gave them up?"

"When Stark came to try and find out where you'd gone. We got into it, words were said. He told me I had a wife and kids, why didn't I think of them? On camera, for Ross and God knows who else to hear. I almost never leave the farm when I'm home. I have four hundred acres and have never met our neighbors. But Laura's not hard to find if you know to look for her."

Sharon cursed under her breath. Clint slipped into the pilot's seat and started flipping switches. All Steve could think to say was, "I'm sorry, Clint."

"I guess we all have to adjust. You guys, too. The life we knew is gone." The jet lifted up. "Wanda's pretty messed up after everything on the Raft, and she was really happy to see us." 

When he and Nat had staged the jailbreak, they'd found Wanda in a straight jacket, a shock collar, and drugged to the gills. If anything else happened to her, she hadn't talked about it. Neither had Clint and Sam, not really. He knew they'd been interrogated, it had been pretty violent, and that Sam had gotten by far the worst of it. Ross seemed to think he was the mostly likely to know where Steve and Bucky were. 

"Speaking of the Raft, sort of," Clint said. "I need your help with something."

"Anything. I owe you about a dozen times over by now."

"We need to get Nat. They are clearly coming for us pretty hard. I know she thinks T'Challa's got it in for her, but he seems to think it all worked out for the best."

"She left when you did, after the prison break. Assured me she'd be fine and didn't say where she was going. I actually figured she'd show up on your doorstep eventually but. . ."

Sharon folded her arms on the back of Clint's chair. "Sounds like I'm going to be busy."

"You going to get someone else?" he asked.

"Gonna try and find someone who can help Bucky," she told him, glancing at Steve. "Gotta be something in those files somewhere."

Steve reached out and squeezed her hand. "We hope."

Clint nodded, seemingly unfazed by the idea. "We'll be back at the Wakandan capital in under an hour. Have a seat, get comfy."

They settled in the back, making idle conversation, until the glittering city was visible in the front windows. He'd come in the first time on the royal jet, in daylight, so Steve had never see this view. "Welcome home," he said, reaching for Sharon's hand.

She took a step forward, looking out at the city and the jungle that tangled around it. "Wow," she breathed. 

"It's not a bad place to be exiled," Clint said.

"Sure beats waitressing in Zurich." 

They landed on the palace grounds and T'Challa came out personally to meet them, accompanied by his girlfriend, who was a very famous American singer. Steve had forgotten to warn Sharon about her, and he could see her trying not to stare, and trying to decide if she was seeing who she thought she was seeing. He shook Steve's hand with a warm smile. "It's good to see you again. And I'm glad you found what you were seeking."

"This is Sharon Carter," Steve said. "You may have briefly met in Berlin, I don't remember. I was busy being arrested.”

"Of course, Agent Carter." He took her hand. "Welcome to Wakanda."

"Thank you very much for taking all of us in, Your Highness."

"I admit, I had no idea I would be opening a Superhero Refugee Camp, but your people are good company."

She chuckled. "I look forward to joining the asylum.”

He gestured to the woman beside him. "This is my betrothed, Monica Lynne.”

“Hi," she said warmly. “Nice to meet you. I wanted to come say hello. It's nice to see fellow Americans.”

"Thank you," Sharon said. "I'm a big fan of your music.”

Clint stepped around them to head inside. "I'm going to go tuck my kids in. Sleep with one eye open, Rogers."

They watched him walk away and Sharon slid an arm around his waist. "I'll protect you."

"My staff here will show you to your rooms," the King said, gesturing behind him. They thanked him again and grabbed their bags, following the others into the palace. 

The guest wing was huge, every room bigger than any apartment Steve had ever lived in. And with better views. The servants led them to two rooms in the same hallway. No adjoining door, but close enough for now. "Your place or mine?" he asked her.

"Yours." She followed him in without a word, dropping her back by the bed. Stretching her arms up she flopped back onto it with a sigh. "Home."

He leaned over the bed, caging her with his arms. "We're safe."

She smiled up at him, then reached up to cup his face in her hands. "Yes, we are."

Letting one hand slide down her side, he leaned in to kiss her. "Feel like celebrating?"

"Why Captain Rogers," she teased, arching a little to press against him. "What did you have in mind?"

"Something about taking your clothes off with my teeth. . ."

Her breath stuttered. "That sounds like a proper celebration."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I get angry at Stucky fics in the Staron tag you get chapters.
> 
> The Epilogue is pretty short, so I'll get that up maybe Friday and start the next fic in this series this weekend.

When Sharon woke in the morning, it still smelled like vacation. Not like the beach, but like the tropics. The air was warm and smelled like flowers. Their windows opened over some sort of garden. It was comfortable in their room, despite the windows being opened, and despite the fact that it had to be hot out. They were near the equator, it was probably always hot here.

Sophisticated Wakandan air conditioning, she supposed. Steve was asleep; he made a grumpy noise and put a pillow over his head when she poked him. He was such a morning person usually—he really must have been exhausted.

Hungry and curious about her new home, she rolled out of bed and got dressed before braiding her hair and slipping out the door. The staff member who had shown them their rooms last night had pointed out the kitchen so she headed there to see about breakfast.

Someone down there directed her to a dining room, where a breakfast buffet had been laid out with a mix of breads and fruits. Sam Wilson was sitting at the table. "Well if it isn't my favorite fugitive CIA agent," he called.

"Hi Sam." She crossed the room and he stood for a hug. "It's good to see you."

"You too," he said. "I'm glad you're safe. And that that poor man is finally getting some action."

Her cheeks heated, but she laughed. "We actually had a nice trip making our way over here. Lay on the beach, ate great food."

"He told me you had some stuff to figure out."

"We did." He sat and she took the seat next to him. "Fell into bed, too. But we talked a lot. Got to know each other." She smiled fondly. "Crammed as much of a relationship as we could."

"You gonna stay here?"

"I am. Hoping to work for their Intelligence people." She picked at the grain of the table. "It'll be nice to be useful. And among friends."

"I'd think they'd have use for a white spy. I know there are intel gaps in some places because their people are too conspicuous." He peeled a banana and broke it in half. "The US they have astonishingly well covered." He lowered his voice. "They even have a guy working in the White House. Twenty years of intel, courtesy of a string of presidents who think the bottom rung of the staff is invisible." 

Sexism and racism could be a spy's best friends, sometimes. "And what about you? Gonna train a platoon of Falcons?"

"In fact I am. We've just finished testing vibranium wings, and we've got the squad mostly selected. This is like the most popular I've ever been in my life."

"Was there bribes?" His plate was half full of fruit and she reached over to snag a hunk of melon.

"No, mostly old women cornering me in random places to tell me how awesome their grandson and/or daughter are." He chuckled. "Though the best thing, really, was the other day someone asked me if I knew when my sidekick was coming back. Took me a few to realize they meant Steve."

Sharon choked on the melon juice and started laughing. "Oh, my God. Please let me be there when you tell him that."

"I will. Shit I've been through for that man? He can be my sidekick for once."

"Apparently, T'Challa is planning to use him as bait for the warriors to practice hunting."

"Yeah, I heard about that. I think he was joking. But maybe not, fast as Steve can run and all."

"I want to be there to see that, too." Standing, she added, "I'm going to go grab my own breakfast so I stop stealing yours. Don't go anywhere." He nodded and she buzzed through the buffet, probably taking way too much. "I better get an active job," she commented when she rejoined Sam. "Or I'm going to gain fifty pounds."

"Running is big here. Seems like everybody does it. You haven't lived until you've been smoked by a 75 year old woman."

"Oh, I'm definitely going to like it here." She sipped some truly amazing coffee and looked at him seriously a moment. "How are you doing?"

"I'm enjoying my breakfast."

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Military men usually weren't big talkers. And it wasn't like they were super close. "It is delicious," she agreed, deciding discretion was the better part of valor.

The doors swung open with force, and two children burst into the room, skidding to a halt when they saw Sharon and Sam. From somewhere out in the hall a woman yelled, "Do not touch that food yet!" They had to be Clint's kids.

"His stealth is not genetic," Sam said around a mouthful of bread.

"So I see." She waved at the kids. A moment later a brunette came through the doors a toddler on her hip. 

"Get a plate, and start with two things each. You are not eating the whole buffet." She turned and smiled at them. "Morning, Sam. You must be Sharon." She held out a hand. "I'm Laura."

She stood to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you. Unless you plan to kill Steve. In which case I think we're required to be enemies."

She laughed. "It's nice I've got a rep, apparently."

"Mom, there's no watermelon," the little girl complained.

"They don't have that here," Laura replied, dragging a high chair over from the corner and plopping the toddler in it. "Pick something else." The toddler reached over and quietly took half a banana off Sam's plate.

Laura sighed and gave him an apologetic look, which he waved away with a smile. The girl looked very put out at the lack of watermelon and Sharon offered up a bit of yellow melon she didn't know the name of. "Want to try this? It's kind of like watermelon."

After a moment's consideration, she said, "Okay." She took it and chewed, then smiled. "It's good."

"Lila, what do you say?"

"Thank you," Lila said dutifully, then skipped over to the table for more yellow melon.

"Thank you," Laura echoed in a stage whisper.

"I have very picky cousins," Sharon told her. "I got your back."

"For your assistance, I won't even punch Steve a little."

"We both appreciate that. He does feel bad. You can probably use him to get things off high shelves for a couple of months."

She chuckled. "I'm not actually mad at him. I have people I am mad at, to varying degrees, but not Steve." She cut up a banana for the little one. "This is Nate, by the way. And he's Cooper." The older boy was politely, quietly, but very efficiently, shoveling food in his mouth. 

Sharon greeted them both, sipping her coffee. "How are you enjoying Wakanda?"

"The weather and people are nice. And my husband is safe. In the end, everything else is just noise."

"We got to jump off a waterfall," Cooper added around a mouthful of pancake.

"That does sound awesome," Sharon admitted. "This is a much happier ending than I thought this whole mess would have."

"I feel bad we sucked this many people into it," Sam said. "When Cap and I went off the rails that was fine, it was the two of us. The list is just. . . grown."

There really were a lot of them. "Steve has a way of cobbling a team together. Apparently, whether he intends to or not."

"Noticed that, did you?" Sam asked.

"I think it's the big blue eyes," Laura said with a wry smile.

Sharon pointed at her. "I have noticed those."

"He seemed so melancholy," she said. "When I met him. I mean they were all messed up in the head, anyway. So some of it might have been that. But it was more. . . I don't know. Longing." She lifted a shoulder. "People need anchors. We need family and people who love us."

"I know that's why he went after Barnes so hard," Sam said. "The last piece of his family."

The Avengers had been a family for him, too. And now they were gone and he was building another one here. Sharon didn't think he even realized it. Taking another sip of her coffee, she stood. "I'm going to go see if he's awake. Let him know Laura's cancelled the hit on him and it's safe to move about the palace."

Laura laughed. "As long as he stays on my good side."

Sharon gave her a little salute before heading out of the dining hall to return to Steve's room. Their bed was draped in gauzy fabric that might have, at some point in the past, been mosquito netting, but now seemed mostly decorative. Steve had pulled them closed just in case.

She could see him in there, sprawled out in the middle of the bed, asleep. She'd just assumed he'd slept well while they were in Morocco, but maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd kept one eye open in watch.

A strong, sharp wave of affection swept through her. She'd admired him a long time. Been willing to throw away her career, her freedom, even her life because she believed in him and what he stood for. The weeks on the road had shown her the man under the legend. He was good and kind and loyal. And by some miracle of fate he was _hers_.

Locking the door, she crossed the room, tugging off the sundress she'd worn to breakfast. He'd slept nude and when she ducked beneath the curtains she found he'd kicked the sheets down to tangle around his legs. Putting a knee up on the bed, she bent and pressed a kiss to his bare hip.

He inhaled sharply, but he didn't start. Maybe just because he knew it was her, and he knew her well enough to relax. He made a sleepy noise and turned his head towards her. "Hi."

"Morning," she said softly, stroking a hand along his thigh. The muscle tightened a little. "Sleep well?"

He sighed contentedly. "Yeah, I did." Slowly he rolled over onto his back, reaching his arms over his head and stretching. The man was as perfect looking as the legend, though she knew this side of him was entirely hers.

She kept stroking his thigh, thumb bare inches from his cock. It was limp, but starting to flush from her attention. "I had breakfast with some of the other refugees," she said, light tone in contrast to her actions. "Good news, Laura no longer means you harm."

"Well now I really can rest easy." She noticed his eyes following her hand.

Her finger tips dipped lower, touching the sensitive skin of his inner leg. His cock twitched in response. "Her son tells me there's a waterfall one can jump off of." As she spoke, she bent to kiss his belly, just above his hair.

His hand tentatively stroked her hair. "We'll add it to the Wakandan part of our vacation. After. . .after the. . .topless beaches."

"I want to see the jungle, too," she said, making sure he felt her breath on him. It twitched again, hardening as she watched. She stroked the underside of his cock with her fingers, touch light as air. "First, though," she said, kissing his thigh. "I'd like to taste you." A kiss to the other thigh. "And suck you." Fisting the base of his now half-hard erection, she licked the head, tasting salt. "And have you fuck me."

The sound he made was half chuckle, half groan. "Sounds like a. . . good way to start. . .the day," he said between hitched breaths.

"Mmm." She slid him into her mouth, taking him as deep as she could, until her lips met her hand. His fingers dug into her hair and she shifted, bracing herself on her other arm. After all these weeks, she knew what he liked. How fast, how hard. How to make him shudder and strip away his control. There was something incredibly arousing about the way he let himself go around her. Sometimes sexy about having that kind of power over a man. And because she was feeling particularly affectionate towards him right now, she let herself get into it, spoiling him utterly with her mouth and tongue and hand.

When he came, the sound he made was probably audible in the hallway, but she didn't really care. Something about the gauzy curtains made her feel like they were the only two people in the world.

She held him until his hips stopped rocking and she was sure his orgasm had passed. Then she sat up slowly, licking her lips. She was almost embarrassingly wet, sex all but aching. The smile she gave him was rather feral as she stroked his ribs and waited for his chest to stop heaving.

When he'd calmed down enough, he reached up and twined a lock of her hair around his fingers. "I love you. You know that?"

"I do," she said softly, leaning her face into his hand to rub her cheek against his knuckles. "Because I love you, too."

"Good," he replied with a smile. He shifted his fingers into her hair, curving them around the back of her neck to pull her down to him so he could kiss her. She sank into it, bracing herself on her forearm next to his head. 

The kiss was a thousand things all at once. Tender and intimate and rough and explicit. It heated her skin, made her shiver. He cupped one of her breasts, the touch almost absent. But it sent a shock through her all the same. She loved the feel of his hands on her skin.

She moaned into his mouth, the sound breathy and needy. The callused pad of his thumb brushed her nipple and it tightened, making her shudder again. He let go of her hair so he could touch her with the other hand, too, doing a slow trace of her skin like he had that first night. It was unbearably arousing.

Shifting, she braced herself on both hands, holding herself up so he had free and easy access to every inch of her. They kissed, deep and rough, then light pecks. After a few moments she lifted her head and met his eyes. He held her gaze as he kept tracing her skin, fingers finding the dips in her ribs, the arch of her spine. It was one of the most intense, erotic moments of her life. 

Neither of them looked away, as his hand slid down her thigh, giving her a gentle tug that encouraged her to swing the leg over and straddle him. He pulled her up, and she felt his cock, hard again, slide against her. The head of it rubbed her clit and she gasped, still holding his gaze.

His eyes darkened and he rocked his hips, repeating the motion. She gave a little cry on the third stroke, canting her hips. He slid inside her, one slow inch at a time. Her body welcomed him, closed around him, as if they'd been made for each other.

The hand on her breast tightened, and he whispered, "That's my girl."

Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. His other hand curled around her hip and he started to move, rocking his hips. His strokes were short and deep, the friction intense.

"Oh, fuck," she mumbled. She tried to move with him but found herself graceless, pleasure overwhelming. She gripped his wrist. "Fuck me. Fuck."

"Need a little help?" he asked, and then his hand left her breast to find her clit. His thumb moved it in slow circles and she couldn't speak. She couldn't even breathe.

Her head tipped back and she closed her eyes, letting go. He stroked her and fucked her for a few moments that might have been hours. Then the heat that had been building up started to flood her. She felt herself twitch and pulse around him and then she was lost. Pleasure pounded through her in time with her heartbeat, wave after wave. She thought she called his name. She almost certainly screamed. 

He must have come with her, but she didn't entirely notice until she crumpled onto him and found him seemingly just was. . . melted. Hid voice was reverent when he whispered, "Oh, holy shit."

She chuckled breathlessly and kissed the skin she could reach, which happened to be a random spot on his chest. "That was intense," she murmured.

"We're safe," he whispered.

"Yes." They lay like that for a while, tangled up, bodies connected. He held her, big hands spread on her back, stroking her skin. She _felt_ safe. And protected. It occurred to her she hadn't felt like that in a very long time. Shifting, she worked her arms around him and pressed her face into his shoulder, suddenly afraid she was going to cry.

He rubbed her back. "I've got you, I've got you."

"I'm okay," she said, voice hoarse. Which was probably plenty of evidence that she wasn't. "I think some stuff de-compartmentalized.”

"That's probably going to happen. We'll figure it out."

"Yeah." She kissed his jaw. "I've got you, too."

His arms tightened. "It's been a hell of a couple of years."

It really had. Her world had turned upside down when SHIELD fell and sometimes it felt like it had never really settled down. Until now. "I know we just got here," she said softly. "But I feel like. . . maybe everything is going to be okay."

"We have each other. That will make it better, no matter what comes down the pike."

She stroked her hand down his arm and sighed. "We'll face it together."

He kissed her hair and repeated, "I love you."

Lifting her head, she kissed him. "I love you, Steve Rogers.”


	12. Epilogue

The doctor was both easy to find and extremely difficult. A two year old trail and no idea what alias she might have used meant Sharon had to get rather inventive. After poking around the woman’s living relatives and associates she was pretty confident she hadn’t gone back to her old life. Which meant starting a new one. Finding a new identity on the black market was pretty straight forward, but becoming a doctor again - that was damn near impossible.

Sharon couldn’t articulate why she was sure Newbury would want to continue to be a doctor of some sort, she just knew. This was a woman who had survived more than half a decade of captivity. She’d want to do what she was trained to do on her terms.

But getting a job in medicine meant having a history. A med school class and diploma, connections, mentors. Everyone she’d talked to thought Newbury was long dead. No one had given any indication they had heard from her or had any idea she was alive.

So, if you wanted to stay in medicine, but didn’t have the credentials to work in a hospital or city clinic where would you go?

Corinth, Maine was a tiny town of less than 3000 people. In the southern half of the state, it was twenty miles from the capital of Bangor and surrounded by horse and goat farms. It was the kind of small town that was suspicious of strangers but eager to gossip. Sharon just had to smile and buy a soda at the local diner and ask the right questions before the waitress and two regulars happily told her about the lady doctor who had come to town about eighteen months ago and started working at the clinic.

“Nice lady, good doctor, doesn’t talk much,” seemed to be the general consensus.

The girl who rang her out at the till added, “I think she’s got a guy out there that used to rough her up.”

“What makes you say that?” Sharon asked idly, rummaging through the hard candy jar.

“She’s got some scars. But mostly there’s this way she holds herself, ya know? Like a dog that wants to be pet but might bite yah for your troubles.”

It was a remarkably apt description of someone recovering from abuse, Sharon thought as she drove. And probably a good sign, given why she was tracking this poor woman down. If she was that traumatized then the files about her being an unwilling participant in the Soldier program was correct. And maybe she’d be willing to help them fix it.

Newbury lived in a well worn cabin off the main road, surrounded by acres of over grown land. It was so far back from the road and hidden in the tangle of trees and bushes Sharon drove past it twice before stopping and getting out. She was very glad for her jeans and hiking boots given the thicket of nettles she found near the door.

There was no signs of life and no car anywhere in the vicinity, so Sharon jimmied a window open and slipped inside. It was one large room, with a bathroom that had probably once been an outhouse that had simply been eaten by the house at one end and a kitchen with appliances older than Sharon on the other. There were two lofts tucked in the peak of the roof, one of which appeared to be a bedroom and the other storage. It was slightly bigger than her first apartment after academy, but not much.

A bit of searching turned up no personal effects or decorations. No pictures, no art, no funny coffee mugs or souvenirs. The clothes in the dresser were mostly Walmart and Sears, with a few more expensive sweaters and coats. The sheets were soft and the quilt thick, but that was probably only because there didn’t seem to be any heat in the place, other than a little pot belly stove downstairs.

In the back of the storage loft she found a black duffel bag with about twenty grand in it, all cash. There was also a SIG 228 and extra ammo. It had all the earmarks of a go-bag. Most SHIELD HQs had had a few in a storeroom somewhere, for emergencies.

Climbing back to the main floor, Sharon took a seat at the kitchen table and waited.

The sun was dipping low when the lock rattled and the front door slowly opened. In stepped a tall woman with long dark hair. A scar ran down her left cheek, barely skirting her eye. She made it less than a foot in the door before she froze, keys still in her hand. Sharon braced herself for a fight or a chase when the other woman slowly lifted her head to look at her.

They stared at each other for a few heart beats, then Sharon said quietly, “Dr. Newbury? My name is Sharon Carter.”

Newbury stared at her a moment, then slowly turned and hung her keys on a hook next to the door. “Are you here to kill me?”

Sharon hurt for her, but did her best to keep her voice neutral. “No. For right now I’d just like to talk. I’m unarmed.”

“None of you are ever unarmed,” Newbury muttered. She had a messenger bag slung across her chest and she lifted the strap off over her head before setting the bag on the floor and walking towards the kitchen.

She wasn’t entirely sure what group she was being lumped into there. But it was almost certainly true. “You were held captive by Hydra for seven years. You worked on the Winter Soldier project.”

Newbury walked past her, heading for the stove. Sharon watched her pluck the dented metal kettle off the burner and fill it at the sink before putting it back on the stove and turning the burner on. “This is about Barnes. The thing in Vienna a few months ago.”

Interesting that she called him by his name and none of the aliases or code words Hydra had used for him. “He wasn’t responsible for Vienna. But I’m here for him.”

“Is he alive?” she asked, pulling a mug and box of teabags out of cabinets.

“He is,” Sharon said. “But he was triggered. By a man who was trying to tear the Avengers apart. Bucky felt he was too dangerous and asked to be put back in cryo until we could find a way to get the triggers out.”

Newbury’s hands stilled and her head tilted. Sharon could almost _see_ her thinking up and discarding theories on how to do that. After a few moments of silence, she said, “Why come to me?”

“Near as I can tell, you’re the only person who knows anything about this who isn’t dead or evil.”

The other woman smiled a little as the kettle started to whistle. She poured hot water into two mugs and carried them over, setting one in front of Sharon. “You sure I’m not evil?”

Sharon studied her a moment. Her fingers were slightly crooked where they were wrapped around her tea mug, and her pinky didn’t bend properly. “The files mentioning you aren’t detailed. But it’s pretty clear you were an unwilling participant. There’s notes about ‘correcting’ your behavior. I can tell your fingers have been broken multiple times. You have scars on your arms, plus the obvious one on your face. You fought them and they tortured you. You’re a doctor. You came up here so you could help people, even after everything you went through. I have someone that needs your help. And only yours.”

“And if I can’t help him?” Her voice was rough, and tight, with an undercurrent that Sharon couldn’t really name.

“I guess he stays in cryo. Until someone else can.”

Newbury looked down, studying her tea mug as if it held the mysteries of the universe. Sharon gave her space to think whatever it was she was thinking.

She looked around the miserable little cabin, then back to Sharon. “When do we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story 2 of the _Reconstruction_ series, _Triggers_ will start posting September 3rd.


End file.
